


The War

by DoYourResearch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, United States, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYourResearch/pseuds/DoYourResearch
Summary: It's 1969 and the Vietnam War is claiming young American men in droves. Sherlock makes some mistakes and finds himself caught in the draft, leaving Molly Hooper alone and vulnerable. While in Vietnam, Sherlock makes friends with army doctor John Watson and together they focus on keeping each other alive so they can return home to the women they love.





	1. Graduation

“This war is pointless and idiotic,” Sherlock Holmes stated as he browsed over the morning paper. A scowl crossed over his young face as he moved from headlines of war in Vietnam to race riots in the streets of Chicago. There were rumors going around that a larger draft would be taking place to ship young men to a near certain death. He was seeing evidence that it would soon be happening.

From the other side of the table, Sherlock’s brother moaned, “Yes, but try telling a patriot that and they’ll waste all their limited brain power finding a way to condemn you for treason.”

Mycroft Holmes sipped at his black coffee with a similar expression to his younger brother. He worked for the United States government and knew more than the papers were letting on. He could not confirm to Sherlock that there was going to be a draft that would affect everyone in the country in some way and that the fate of so many men would be determined by a lottery system of all things. Like drawing a name out of the hat, except the winners would be receiving a gruesome prize. Thankfully, Mycroft’s position would protect him from the draft and Sherlock’s anticipated enrollment into Harvard would spare him as well.

There was a knock at the front door that carried through to the kitchen. Neither of the Holmes boys moved from their spots. After a few moments they heard hurried footsteps in the hall and the door opened. 

“Sherlock!” Violet Holmes called out cheerfully, “Molly’s here to walk to school!”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in amusement as Sherlock blushed, folding the paper and slapping it down on the table. 

“I thought we talked about Ms. Hooper. Does she know yet you’ll be leaving for college at the end of the summer?” Mycroft asked. 

Molly Hooper was fresh-faced and seventeen. As Sherlock was just about to conclude his senior year of high school, she was completing her junior year. The two had become an unlikely couple after spending time together in chess club and on the academic decathlon team. They were also lab partners in their Chemistry and Anatomy classes. Molly had showed great promise in math and science had taken senior level classes. Sherlock may have had the opportunity in the past but showed little interest in putting forth any more energy in his classes than was required to graduate. Her senior year was going to be a mix of advanced placement classes as well as courses at the local community college.

Sherlock had accepted a full-scholarship to Harvard to obtain dual degrees in Applied Chemistry and Physics. He had considered himself beyond the collegiate education system but had been urged heavily by his family to accept the scholarship and the opportunity. Little did he know that Mycroft knew it would protect him from being forced into service and shipped across the world to partake in a war neither believed in.

“Hi, Sherlock,” Molly said, coming into the kitchen with Violet trailing behind her. She wore her traditional school uniform as did Sherlock. They both attended St. Christopher’s Academy, a Catholic school only a few blocks away from the Holmes residence. The head of the house, Siger Holmes, wanted the best education imaginable for his children despite not being Catholic. He paid a premium for the school to overlook their lack of religion and ensured his bright sons would help with the academic reputation of the institution. Mycroft had graduated from St. Christopher’s seven years prior before attending Yale as a Political Science major. Unlike the Holmes family, Molly was well and truly Catholic. It sometimes irked Sherlock when she would pray at meals or clutch her rosary, but she was smart enough to separate the science from religion unlike their biology teacher who tried to skip over the section in their textbooks regarding evolution in favor of pushing intelligent design onto them.

Sherlock pulled away like a child being kissed by an annoying aunt as Molly pressed her lips to his cheek. His ears glowed red in embarrassment as he caught Mycroft smirking and his mother smiling with glee. He had kissed Molly a few times but only ever in the privacy of his room or at night on an empty street. He did not like making a spectacle of their relationship.

“Good morning, Molly,” Sherlock said flatly while he pushed the paper aside, not wanting Molly to catch the headlines. She had already lost a brother in Vietnam when he had been with one of the first troops sent there. He knew how the war upset her and did his best to limit his criticisms about it when she was around. 

Sherlock turned to look at his girlfriend and found her smiling warmly at him. It really did amaze him that she could take so much pleasure being in his company. He knew he wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, but he was very particular and she didn’t mind. 

“Good Morning, Ms. Hooper,” Mycroft said politely as he reached across the table to pluck the newspaper. Before Molly could even reply, he already whipped the paper open and buried his face in it. She rolled her eyes but replied, “Good morning, Mycroft.”

“We’re going to be late for our calculus quiz if we don’t leave now,” Molly said, looking down at her watch and noticing the time. Sherlock groaned, “Calculus is so boring.”

“Don’t start,” Violet said firmly before grabbing a brown paper bag from the counter. She thrust it at her younger son as he stood from the table. He towered over her with his lanky form, but she was never frightened. She was the shortest member of their family by over a foot, but she had proven to be the most intimidating. “Do well on your quiz,” she said, pulling her son down to kiss his cheek. His ears burned redder than before. He huffed, taking his lunch from her and then pulled Molly hastily from his house.

“Have a good day, Mrs. Holmes!” Molly called out before Sherlock had slammed the door shut. He stomped down the steps of the porch and yelled, “Those people!”

Molly giggled, knowing how temperamental Sherlock could be when it came to his family. She had tried to reason with him several times that he had a relatively normal family, except that his mother was a genius-level mathematician turned homemaker, his brother had a brain that held a database bigger than the new computers that were being developed, and that he himself could deduce someone’s life story with hardly more than a glance. It seemed his father was the only truly average person in the family. He worked a standard nine-to-five job ordering supplies for a manufacturing company, was sociable, and enjoyed line-dancing very much for someone who had never actually lived in the country.

It was always a little difficult to keep up with Sherlock when they walked to school. His long legs took strides that made Molly’s ache to keep up with. She knew it was against his nature, but she found herself reaching out and taking his hand. His fingers didn’t respond as she slipped hers between his and asked, “Can we slow down?”

Sherlock said nothing but incrementally slowed his pace. His hand was still unresponsive in her own. “We only have two more weeks left of the school year and then we’ll never walk to school together again,” she said with a sadness that even Sherlock could not miss. He glanced to his side to see she was looking down at the sidewalk as they walked. He took a deep breath and curled his fingers to grasp her hand. He caught a hint of a smile, but it was not enough to break the grey cloud that had suddenly covered her.

“I’ve already started applying for schools but I’m not sure what I want to do,” she said. A moment of dread filled Sherlock at the thought of college. He still needed to tell her about Harvard but didn’t know how. The few conversations they had had about his collegiate career had ended with him saying that he would probably go to the local junior college if he couldn’t figure something out. Unfortunately, he had figured something out, but he knew it would mean saying goodbye to the only person who truly understood him. 

Molly continued, “My parents want me to be a nurse, but I really don’t think that it would suit me.”

“I think you would make an excellent doctor,” Sherlock chimed in. She looked to him to see he was serious. It caused a warm smile to grow on her face, “You really think so?” Sherlock nodded, “Absolutely. You excel in chemistry and anatomy as well as math. Also, you don’t quite have the personality of a nurse which I think works in your favor.”

The last comment confused Molly and she asked, “How do you mean?”

“You’re not very good at getting close to people you don’t already know without a frankly long introduction period. You tell terrible jokes and you tend to be rather timid. While some people may find these to be troublesome qualities, I rather enjoy them as it means I’m less likely to share your attentions with anyone else,” Sherlock explained. It took a few moments for Molly to process the rapid words Sherlock was spewing before she realized he was telling her in a way that only he could that he liked her. She already knew he did or else they wouldn’t be holding hands to school, but it was a nice affirmation from a man who rarely showed sentiment toward her.

Molly squeezed Sherlock’s hand gently and replied, “I love you, Sherlock.” She froze for a moment and then yanked her hand back and shouted, “I mean I like you!” Her face burned deep red in embarrassment as she stuttered, “I’m s-s-sorry. I didn’t mean l-love. I meant like. I like you… a lot. Please forget I said anything.”

“Molly,” Sherlock said calmly, stopping his pace and reaching out to grab her by her shoulders and hold her still before him. She looked utterly terrified of the words that had spilled from her mouth. He smiled and said, “It’s ok, Molly.”

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t believe in love…” Molly went on to say but he silenced her by saying, “I love you too.”

There was a long pause before Molly replied, “What?”

“I said that I love you too.”

She blinked at him in a stupor as she ran the words through her mind several times. Finally, she smiled and said, “Good.” She reached out and took his hand again and said “We are really going to be late for class but I don’t give a damn.”

Sherlock grinned, “Molly Hooper, that word is not ladylike at all.” She laughed and said, “I’ll confess about it later but for right now, I don’t give a damn!”  
\--------------  
Molly sat between Violet and Mycroft Holmes. Siger sat on the other side of his wife and beamed proudly at the stage through the graduation ceremony. Violet wiped tears from her eyes as she watched her “baby boy” sit amongst his classmates while the principal gave a speech about ushering a new class into a changing world. There was a heavy feeling amongst the auditorium as mothers cried for their boys knowing that they were being sent to war before the summer would end.

Mycroft blocked the noise of cries as he had been doing for the past two years since he had started working for the government. He had been urging heavily for his superiors to accept that they should not push further into Vietnam. Instead of understanding that drafting the young men needed to build up their country was a poor decision, they had made things worse. After an extensive audit concluded that the majority of draftees were coming from impoverished households, the Selective Service System had announced publicly the anticipated draft lottery that would take place in the fall. In the meantime, to appease the general population, they were drafting heavily from wealthier populations in an attempt to show equality. The town of Sherrinford, Maryland, just outside of Washington D.C. had been hit exceptionally hard. Any healthy man over eighteen that was not married with kids or enrolled in college found themselves summoned to the recruiting office.

It made Mycroft physically ill at the way the recruiters drafted the men of his neighborhood. He had gone to the recruiting office with Sherlock the day after he had turned eighteen to put his name on the registry. As they waited, a dozen men were paraded and lined up in the hallway as if they were being prepared for execution. They really were boys, not men. They all looked utterly terrified as the recruiting officer went down the line and simply said, “You, you, not you, you, not you…” He then hollered at those dubbed ‘not you’ to vacate the building. They had been spared. There was no rhyme or reason. They had a quota to meet and each person was just a number on a paper in a stack. They were no longer human beings. Mycroft felt relief when Sherlock provided his information and then confirmed his enrollment for Harvard, earning him a deferment. 

Molly looked to Mycroft and could see the discomfort in his posture despite his stone-cold face. She knew he held a government position but never knew the full extent of what he did. She did know how much Mycroft cared for his little brother despite their constant bickering. He had always been polite enough to her but over the past year that she had been dating Sherlock, she had barely shared more than pleasantries with him. She placed a hand on his arm and said, “At least we know he’s safe.”

She didn’t need to explain further. Mycroft knew very well about her brother. He had died shortly after he started his government position two years ago. He had been on the airstrip when the plane had landed and numerous coffins covered in American flags were carried out. He had seen Molly and her family crying over his coffin as if their tears would bring him back. There were several families nearly identical to Molly’s, but he had felt the worst when he had seen several coffins with no families to claim them. He was rarely sentimental, but it shook something inside him immensely to consider giving one’s life for your country when there was no one waiting at home for your return. 

“Let’s just hope that Harvard can keep him occupied long enough,” Mycroft said in a distraught whisper as he watched his brother look positively miserable on the stage. He had complained all morning about his cap and gown looking ridiculous but when they arrived at the school Violet had given him an icy stare that put him right in his place.

Molly looked at Mycroft’s worried face and said rather loudly, “Harvard?”

Other parents turned to look at her and hushed her. She ignored them but lowered her tone, “What do you mean by Harvard? Did he just find out?”

Mycroft truly did not know that Molly was never informed of Sherlock’s enrollment, but he couldn’t back away now. He sighed heavily and whispered, “He was accepted four months ago.”

Molly said nothing else. She straightened her posture and looked back at the stage with tears threatening to fall. To anyone else she looked like all the others who were losing their loved one for a different reason. She wanted to feel bad for being so upset. Harvard meant Sherlock was safe and alive. It also meant that he was gone, and she would be alone. She had already lost her brother, Daniel, and felt she should be entitled to have something for her loss. She should be able to keep Sherlock. She had earned her right to cry but she refused to act on it. She sniffled slightly and roughly rubbed her eyes. She feigned a smile when Sherlock’s name was called and clapped for him. She stood on shaky feet and cheered when the principal presented the graduated class of 1969.

“My boy!” Siger yelled happily when Sherlock found his family in the dispersing crowd after the ceremony had ended. He carried his gown on his arm, satisfied to finally take it off. His cap had been lost in the shuffle after tossing it in the air with his fellow graduates. He wasn’t quite enthusiastic as the others, but he used it as an excuse to never have to see the ridiculous cap again.

Siger forced Sherlock into a hug and then passed him off to Violet who pulled him down to her level so she could kiss his forehead. He looked positively humiliated, causing Mycroft to enjoy the moment. He promptly offered a hand to Sherlock and they shook as if they hardly knew each other. Finally, Sherlock looked to Molly who had been standing behind his family with a growing smile and said, “I’m finally free!” He didn’t seem to notice the distraught look on her face as he uncharacteristically pulled her into a tight hug. She found her arms quickly wrapping around him, pulling slightly on his dress shirt. She inhaled his scent and found comfort for a moment.

Violet announced, “Come along you two, or we’ll never get out of this parking lot in time for our dinner reservation!”

Sherlock broke the embrace and smiled down at Molly. She offered a weak smile and said, “I’m proud of you.” He lowered his head and said in a quiet tone, “If you hadn’t pushed me to go to class I might not have even graduated. It’s all because of you.”

Molly’s eyes watered again but she quickly blinked her tears away as Violet yelled, “Now, Sherlock!”

Sherlock chuckled, “Let’s go before my mother forces my father to run over children in the parking lot for time’s sake.” Molly tried to smile when Sherlock took her hand and pulled her along behind his family. She remained quiet in the car as she was seated snuggly between Sherlock and Mycroft. It felt comforting as if she were protected by the Holmes brothers but also suffocating as she wanted to speak with Sherlock so badly about what Mycroft had told her. She didn’t want to make a scene in front of his parents or Mycroft so she stomached her frustrations further.

Dinner was rather pleasant, and Molly was quiet when the waiter assumed she was eighteen and allowed her to drink wine with the rest of the Holmes family. She had only ever had wine at church during communion on Christmas and even then, it was vile and cheap. The wine in her glass at dinner complimented the chicken on her plate and danced on her tongue. Mycroft had filled her glass fully twice when he topped off the glasses of his family. She found it hard to stop sipping and was soon feeling quite carefree and happy. 

“I think Miss Molly may have imbibed a bit too much,” Siger said with a playful tone. Violet tutted, “Poor dear, are you ok?” she asked as Sherlock had to steady her when they arrived back at the Holmes residence for cake. Molly nodded with a giggle and allowed Sherlock to guide her inside the house. He paused at the base of the stairs and said, “I’m going to take Molly upstairs to lie down.”

Under normal circumstances, Violet would refuse to allow Molly to tarnish her reputation by going to Sherlock’s room. She was very strict on the matter but to see the young woman swaying uneasily caused her to wave them upstairs.

“I’ll bring up a slice of cake for you both,” Violet yelled as Sherlock ushered Molly carefully up the hardwood stairs. Siger laughed in the kitchen as Violet pulled out plates and said, “I guarantee we’re going to get an earful from Mrs. Hooper in the morning.”

Violet rolled her eyes, “She’s almost eighteen, that’s legal enough.”

“I believe I’m partially to blame for her current state,” Mycroft said as he placed the cake tin on the counter for his mother and removed the lid. He eyed the cake with a hint of glee. It was a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting between the layers with a coating of buttercream frosting which Violet had meticulously piped on it, “Congratulations Sherlock.”

His mother scoffed, “No one made her drink though with what that poor girl has been through I don’t hardly blame her for wanting to take her mind off things.”

“I may have broken the news to her that Sherlock’s attending Harvard,” Mycroft confessed.

Siger gasped, “She didn’t know?”

Mycroft shook his head, “It appears as though Sherlock never told her.”

“I have half a mind to smack that boy,” Violet said, shaking her head as she cut the cake into generous pieces and plated them. Mycroft frowned and said, “Perhaps I’ll be the one to bring them cake.” She looked at him with a grumpy expression but waved him off, “Fine, fine. Just make sure they are behaving up there. I don’t want the neighborhood thinking this is a den on assignation just because Molly had a glass of wine at dinner.”

Mycroft ignored his mother and carried two plates of cake with forks stabbed into them up the stairs. He turned the corner and saw that the door to his brother’s room was open. He was laying Molly down on his bed, but she was hiccupping and crying, “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Harvard?”

“Who told you that?” Sherlock said with annoyance as he tried to take her hand. She pulled back, “It doesn’t matter who told me,” she sobbed, “it matters that you didn’t!”

Mycroft was a bit relieved that his name wasn’t mentioned though he found himself stuck. He didn’t want to interrupt them with something as stupid as cake, but he was now in a position that if he moved back to the stairs, they would know he was listening.

“Were you just going to leave and never tell me? Do I mean that little to you, Sherlock?” Molly asked of him, nearly in full-blown hysterics. Sherlock tried to calm her, “You mean the world to me, Molly. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You had four months to tell me!” She argued. He sighed heavily and simply said, “I know.”

Molly cried, “Does this mean you don’t want to date me anymore?” There was a pause before Sherlock said, “What if I didn’t go to Harvard? What if I stay here and get a job? I don’t need college anyways and when you’re ready for college I’ll go where you go.”

Mycroft’s stomach dropped. If Sherlock didn’t attend college, he would lose his deferment. He wanted to storm in the room and knock some sense into his brother. He found himself unable to blame Molly for swaying his brother’s decision. He had taught Sherlock better than to let sentiment get the better of him. He had sat by idly while his relationship with her blossomed. He imagined it would have been very short lived and that Sherlock would have easily scared her off, but it had been nearly thirteen months and he knew all too well that Sherlock was almost too far gone.

“You can’t give up Harvard for me,” Molly choked out in surprise to Sherlock’s immediate willingness to forgo the ivy league school. Even Mycroft found her words unexpected. She went on, “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want you to give up on your future.”

“Maybe we can make it work. I can come home during my breaks and we can write while I’m away,” Sherlock suggested with hope in his voice. Mycroft shook his head at his brother’s naivety. How had his brother become so soft?

There was a pause before Molly said, “It won’t be easy.”

“You’re the only one who understands me and knows what I’m like. I don’t want to give you up or else I’ll be completely alone,” Sherlock said with fear in his voice, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Suddenly, Sherlock got up from the bed and started digging through his dresser drawer. Mycroft was not able to peer inside to see what he was doing but soon Sherlock said, “Aha!”

“This is my class ring,” he said, sitting back on the bed beside Molly. Her head rested on his pillow with her long brown hair splayed out. Despite her red eyes, she looked beautiful. He knew there was no way his mother would allow them to spend the night together in his room, even if he respected her virtue. He wanted to wrap himself around her body but knew he would have to wait so much longer before he could.

“I will get you a proper ring when I can make my own money, but for now I want you to have this,” Sherlock said softly as he took Molly’s hand in his. The ring was too large for her slender fingers, so he placed it in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. She looked into his deep blue eyes with her dark brown eyes before launching herself up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto her body, her lips crushing against his.

The young couple had only ever kissed chastely so when Sherlock’s tongue slipped between Molly’s lips, they both moaned and clutched each other tightly. Their pulses soared and their lungs burned during their deep kiss. Sherlock knew he should stop but his hand that had fallen on her hip slid to the hem of her skirt. His hand was slowly exploring the skin up her thigh when the sound of a throat clearing tore them apart.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock bellowed with frustration as his brother stood in the doorway with two plates of cake in hand. Mycroft looked just as annoyed with Sherlock but said nothing of the conversation he overheard. He placed the plates on Sherlock’s cluttered desk and said, “When Molly feels better I’ll drive her home.”

“Get out,” Sherlock hissed but Mycroft was already on his way out of the room. Sherlock slammed the door behind his brother and then spun around to look at Molly, “Was it Mycroft who told you?”

Molly timidly nodded as Sherlock pulled his chair from the desk and sat down. He didn’t trust himself to get too close to Molly as he was feeling a stirring in his pants. He could not allow himself to conflict her. He laughed at the idea of virginity but knew Molly truly believed in the concept. If he pressured her, he was sure she would cave beneath him. He wanted to be better than the jocks at school who claimed girls for sport. He wanted to be a good man for her.

“While I’m gone I suspect Mycroft may try to meddle in our relationship,” Sherlock said with authority, she listened to him as he gave her instructions, “I need you to disregard whatever he may say about me. Do not trust him for anything.”

Molly nodded obediently, taking in his words and watching him intently. She felt an ache in her chest as she remembered sitting on her bed as Daniel prepared her for his departure to Vietnam on his last visit home. He gave her somber directives just as Sherlock was giving her. She wanted to yell at Sherlock to stop and never leave but she knew she was being silly. Sherlock was going to college, he wasn’t going to war. She needed to let the past go.

When Sherlock finally relaxed again, he looked at Molly and said, “You look so beautiful with your hair a mess like that.”

His words caught Molly by surprise as she blushed deeply at the compliment. He rarely spoke of her looks but always praised her mind or her kindness. She never considered herself a beautiful girl like the cheerleaders at school, but she never wanted to be like them. She wanted to be taken seriously. Sherlock took her seriously and it was what first drew her to him.

“One day, I’m going to make you my wife, Molly Hooper, and I will make love to you the way you deserve,” Sherlock said boldly and passionately. She met his eyes and could see the lust and desire swirling in them. She felt a pull in her groin that made her want to hike her skirt up and take him on the chair, but she pushed back her own desire and said nothing. Her blush spread down her neck as she let his eyes wash over her.

Sherlock eventually growled, “As much as I don’t want you to go, I think it’s best that Mycroft takes you home before your parents think I’ve done something villainous to you.”

Molly stood up with Sherlock’s help so that she could keep her skirt down as she rolled out of his bed. When she was on her feet, he kept her body only inches from his. His hands held her arms to keep her in place as he lowered his head and kissed her firmly on the lips. Once more, she felt the burning lust within her but before she could even attempt to pull from his grasp, he let her go, “I love you, Molly.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she replied with awe. He smirked before taking one of her hands and kissing it. He led her from his room, cake forgotten, and made sure she was steady on her feet as she walked down the stairs. Upon hearing them come down the stairs, Violet stepped into the hallway and asked, “How are you feeling, dear?”

Molly smiled, “Much better, Mrs. Holmes. I’m so sorry about dinner.” Violet chuckled, “Darling, I can’t count the number of times I had a bit too much at dinner. In fact, if it wasn’t for an exquisite bottle of chardonnay that we picked up in the Finger Lakes, Sherlock might not even exist.”

“Mother!” Sherlock cried out in embarrassment as Molly covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. Violet laughed at Sherlock, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. How else do you think babies can be made?”

Sherlock refused to answer the question cried out, “Mycroft! Molly’s ready to go!”

Violet approached the couple and pulled Molly into a hug. She squeezed her tightly and said, “I hope we’ll see plenty more of you even if you won’t be walking to school with Sherlock anymore.”

“Of course,” Molly said, aware that she was alluding to her discovery of Harvard. She pulled back as Mycroft entered the increasingly crowded hallway and said to Violet, “Father is already asleep on the couch.”

“That man!” Violet bellowed, “He’ll never go up to bed now!”

Violet went to the living room, leaving Mycroft with his brother and Molly. His keys were already in his hand and he looked between the two of them, “Are you joining us, Sherlock?”

“I have things to attend to,” Sherlock said, glaring at his brother, “She’ll meet you outside in just a moment.” Mycroft said nothing else and walked past them, slipping on his shoes before stepping outside. Once the door was closed, Sherlock groaned quietly, “I’d come with you, but I don’t think I could survive the drive back from your house alone with him.”

Molly smiled, only slightly disappointed to lose even a few minutes in his company. She reached out to stroke his arm and said, “It’s ok. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“If you’re feeling up to it. I recommend drinking a glass of water before bed or you’ll have quite the headache in the morning,” Sherlock replied. She rolled her eyes, “Yes, father.”

Sherlock kissed her briefly before opening the front door for her. She waved goodbye to him from the front seat of Mycroft’s black Cadillac Deville as he backed out of the driveway.

It was a relatively short drive to Molly’s house but there were numerous stop signs and lights that made the drive seem longer. She felt uncomfortable sitting next to Mycroft after Sherlock had told her not to trust him. It didn’t take long for Mycroft to break the silence and say, “I apologize for what I said during the graduation ceremony today.”

Molly looked at his face though it was blanketed by the darkness and said, “I’m glad you told me.”

“Despite what I’m sure Sherlock has said about me, I’m not a villain,” he told her calmly and rationally. She smiled to herself as she considered just how different the brothers were in the manner that they spoke. Mycroft was always collected while Sherlock was incredibly theatrical. She shrugged, “He may have said some things, but I choose to judge a person’s character myself.”

Mycroft hummed in approval at her response, “You would make a decent politician.”

“I intend to be a doctor, not a politician,” Molly said confidentially. It was the first time she had spoken her career path aloud to anyone besides Sherlock. Her face burned with slight embarrassment as she waited for him to doubt her but instead found herself smiling when he said, “I think you’d make an even better doctor than a politician. Have you considered where you’re going to school after you graduate?”

“Harvard,” Molly blurted out. She knew her decision was largely made because of Sherlock but Harvard was an incredible school. She just needed to get accepted there. She had looked at some of the women’s colleges near Harvard but they seemed more like the schools that would groom her to be a proper housewife. None of them had a program that could help her become a doctor. At most, she could be a science teacher and she knew that she did not want to teach.

Mycroft chuckled, “Such big dreams for such a small woman.”

“Size is irrelevant, Mycroft,” Molly shot back, “Einstein had a smaller than average brain and looked what he accomplished.”

Mycroft glanced from the road to the younger woman beside her, with more respect he said, “That’s very true. I did not mean to offend.”

“No offense taken,” she replied with a smirk, but stared out onto the dark road ahead of them. He smiled and asked, “Would you be opposed to performing a favor for me?”

The question surprised Molly who looked back to Mycroft with a bewildered expression. What on earth could Mycroft want from her? He looked ahead at the road and spoke before she could reply, “Sherlock is a sensitive boy and I’ve spent his entire life trying to protect him. I know you are loyal to him but I would like it if you could keep me updated on his… condition. I’ll soon be residing in D.C. proper and I won’t be able to keep an eye on him when he goes to college.”

“Sherlock is a man, not a boy,” Molly defended her boyfriend. Mycroft smiled distantly, “I wish that was true, but you don’t know him like I do.”

“What do you want me to tell you about him? He’s strange and peculiar but he’s brilliant and creative. He keeps well enough out of trouble,” she said firmly. She huffed and crossed her arms across her chest, “If you can’t tell, my answer is no.”

Mycroft sighed heavily, taking a hand from the wheel to rub at his forehead. He wanted to tell her Sherlock’s deepest secrets if it meant that it would keep him safe. He wanted to teach Molly about the warning signs to watch for. He also wanted to chase her away so that when he did something to break her heart, he wouldn’t implode on himself for his mistakes. If Sherlock had a meltdown over the summer, it would be better than mid-semester in another state.

It was best not to push it so Mycroft said, “I do apologize for upsetting you. Please forget I asked.”

“I intend to,” Molly spat back as he turned the wheel and pulled into the driveway of her house. She was already beginning to feel a throbbing in her head. She knew it would be a long time before she would ever drink again. 

Before she could even think to open the door, Mycroft was already out of the driver’s seat and at her side of the car, opening it for her. She looked up at his heavily shadowed face and muttered a thanks as he gently placed a hand on her back to guide her to her feet before closing the door behind her. She wanted to tell him to leave when she saw that he intended to walk her to her front door.

They had not even finished walking up the stairs when the door opened, and her father’s angry face met her own annoyed one. James Hooper looked to Mycroft ascending the porch stairs beside her and lightened his expression.

“Ah, Mycroft, how are you doing?”

Mycroft had graduated with Daniel and had a reputation around town as being a well-mannered and successful man who doted on his family. Sherlock, on the other hand, had a very different reputation. James did not like that his daughter was dating the strangest boy in school, but his wife had forced him to let the young couple be. Now, if Mycroft saw something in his daughter, it would be a union he’d be happy to support. 

Mycroft held his hand out and shook James’ with a friendly smile, “I do apologize if I’ve returned Ms. Hooper a little bit later than intended. We had cake at our house after dinner and played a rather extensive game of Scrabble.” Molly showed no expression toward his well delivered lie but was grateful that he so easily placated her father.

“At least I know she was in good hands,” James said as he smiled down at his daughter and then nodded for her to come inside. She stepped in the doorway before turning around and said, “Goodnight, Mycroft, and thank you for the ride.”

“It was my pleasure,” he replied. 

Molly quickly went upstairs to her room before her mother or father could get close enough to her to smell the wine on her breath. Her head was aching further so she did as Sherlock had instructed and went into her adjoining bathroom and ran the tap until the water ran cold. She filled the glass she normally used for rinsing after brushing her teeth and drank it quickly. She repeated the process twice more before she heard a knock at her door.

“One moment!” she called out before grabbing her toothpaste and squeezing a drop on her finger. She quickly rubbed it on her teeth so that her breath was minty.

Molly opened her bedroom door and was met with her proudly smiling father. She gave him a polite smile, wanting nothing more than to just say goodnight and go to bed but he said, “So, Mycroft Homes?”

“Is too old for me,” Molly said, trying to quickly end the conversation before it started.

James placed his hand on the doorframe and said, “He’s only twenty-five. There’s more years between your mother and I.”

“Dad, I’m dating Sherlock,” she reminded him, causing a frown to overtake his face. He replied, “I know, that’s the problem.”

Molly sighed heavily, crossing her arms across her chest and said, “Did you come up here just to convince me I’m dating the wrong Holmes brother?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to consider your options,” her father said, shrugging with a playfully confused expression. She rolled her eyes, “I love Sherlock, not Mycroft. My decision is made.”

“Whoa!” her father said loudly, “It’s love now? Is that right?”

Molly blushed heavily as he clapped and laughed. She grit her teeth and said, “I’m seventeen years old, I’m old enough to know what love is.”

Her father could sense her anger building and said, “Calm down, pumpkin, I was just teasing you. If Sherlock makes you happy and he treats you the way you deserve to be treated, then you’ll always have my blessing.”

“Thank you, dad,” Molly said as her father leaned in and kissed her forehead. He gave her a warm smile and said, “You look exhausted. Say your prayers and go to bed.”

“Yes, dad. I love you,” she said as he turned from her door. He called back, “Love you too, pumpkin.”

Molly closed her bedroom door and let out a relieved sigh. She then went to the waist bad of her skirt and pressed her fingers into the small pocket that her mother had sewed onto all her dresses and skirts, so she could always keep a key and a few dollars for emergencies. She pulled out the ring that Sherlock had given to her and smiled in the dim lighting of her room. She couldn’t help but replay the words Sherlock had said about making her his wife. 

After changing quickly into her dressing gown, Molly climbed into bed and placed the ring onto her nightstand. She watched it as if it would get up and move until her eyes drifted shut and her dreams took over.


	2. Summertime

“It wouldn’t kill you to get a little sun,” Molly said as she laid back on the reclining chair near the community pool. Sherlock sat behind her, hiding beneath an expansive umbrella so that the sun could not dare touch his milky white skin. He felt uncomfortable enough baring his chest to the world, he didn’t want to add the pain of sunburn. It also didn’t help that they had walked under the blazing sun to get there and he was almost certain his nose was burnt.

Sherlock said nothing as he lifted his chemistry textbook to his face and began reading. He was almost entirely through his text books for his first semester even though summer was only three weeks old. He didn’t want to waste time on theory when he arrived at Harvard. He wanted to get straight to the applied part of his degree. Molly similarly kept her reading rather dense with numerous anatomy and physiology books. She had borrowed some of Sherlock’s chemistry books as well. When they spent lazy afternoons at his house, she particularly enjoyed perusing through his collection of forensic studies books. She dared not take them out in public. No one would feel comfortable about a woman looking at pictures of murder scenes.

Molly was taking a break from the books and allowed the sun to kiss her pale skin. Like Sherlock, she wasn’t comfortable baring so much skin, but it was so hot out that she couldn’t find any reason not to wear her only bikini. The material was a mustard yellow with thin brown stripes. Some of the other girls at the pools had much nicer bikinis that displayed their breasts rather perfectly. Molly felt like she was wearing her first training bra in public. Still, she said nothing to Sherlock about the insecurities she had when she noticed that he didn’t even glance at the girls she felt were more beautiful than she was. 

After twenty minutes, Molly rolled over onto her stomach and crossed her arms under her chin. She looked at Sherlock through her dark sunglasses and said, “Learn anything new?”

“Of course not,” he replied with a bored drawl. She smiled and said, “Why don’t we go in the water?”

“You mean that giant bowl of infectious soup? I’ll pass,” he said, looking out at the water. Children were splashing and playing, girls were hanging on to the edge of the deep end and chatting, the older boys were trying to see who could make the biggest splash when they cannon-balled off the high dive, and the older woman sat on the edge with their feet in the water. Molly rolled her eyes and said, “Suit yourself.”

She pushed herself off the chair, unknowingly giving Sherlock a perfect view into her top. He found himself entranced for a moment before she stood upright and said, “If you change your mind you know where to find me.”

Sherlock intended to go back to his book but watched in awe as his girlfriend shyly walked to the edge of the deep end. She stepped up to the ladder, and carefully lowered herself into the water. He suddenly felt the urge to join her as she dove under the water, her pale legs kicking in the air for just a moment. Her head emerged, and he could see a satisfied smile on her face as she treaded the water. He set his book aside and stood up, hitting his head off the umbrella and cursed to himself. He stepped away and was walking toward the water when he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Two children, hardly older than twelve, with skin as dark as rich chocolate were surrounded by several of the older guests of the pool. Middle-aged men were yelling obscenities at the children, telling them they were not welcome in the community pool. Their eyes were wide as dinner plates with fear as they clutched onto each. Sherlock even saw that one of the boys have a stream of urine running down his leg.

Without realizing his legs had carried him over to the conflict, he was suddenly before a rather overweight man with oily black hair and an ugly sneer. He loudly yelled, “This is a nigger-free pool!” Without a second thought Sherlock pulled back his fist and struck the man in the jaw. The man, caught off guard, stumbled back and found himself falling into the pool.

The other four men who were terrorizing the children, turned their attentions to Sherlock. He swung heavily, breaking the nose of the man closest to him as he charged toward him. He felt blinding fury build up inside him as he plowed through the men, seeking to do as much damage as he could until he felt a large hand wrap around his left arm. He swung his right arm until he again felt restraint. He was held back by two men and forced back his yells as fist after fist pummeled into his abdomen. 

“Stop it!” he heard a voice shriek. It took several moments for him to realize it was Molly. He turned to look toward her voice when he felt the knuckles of a fist connect with his cheek bone. His vision became fuzzy and a ringing became prominent in his ears as another blow connected to his face. After a few moments he heard a whistling sound before everything went black.

Molly threw herself over Sherlock as he slumped to the concrete. A man made a move to strike when a voice bellowed, “That is ENOUGH!” She clung to Sherlock, her body shaking with fear. Everything had happened so quickly. One minute she had seen Sherlock under the umbrella, the next he was going after a group of men. She was proud of her boyfriend but terrified that he wasn’t responding as she said his name. He was still breathing though she could see the bruises along his ribs. She worried they might be broken. Blood was trickling from the corner of his swelling lip and a large gash oozed under his eye. The promise of a shiner was evident.

“Miss, is he ok?”

She refused to let go but Molly looked beside her to see a pair of shiny black shoes and dark blue slacks. She ran her eyes up the legs of the man and saw that it was a police officer. He was a tan man but had a boyish face and looked like he could barely be thirty. He had hints of grey showing under his hat.

Sherlock began to groan before Molly could respond. She backed off him slightly and allowed the officer to help her stand. He then bent over and offered a hand to Sherlock and said, “Next time you want to want to pick a fight with pricks like that, make sure you’re not outnumbered.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sherlock groaned as he was hoisted to his feet. He painfully stretched his jaw and then clutched at his side and asked, “Are the boys ok?”

“They hightailed it out of here and flagged my car as soon as you stepped in,” the man said. Molly felt a small bit of relief that the children were safe but still was worried for Sherlock. He held his hand out to the officer and said, “Thanks for the assistance…”

“Lestrade. Officer Lestrade,” the man said, shaking Sherlock’s hand firmly. He then looked to Molly and said, “Does he belong to you?”

Molly smiled proudly, “Absolutely.”

“Why don’t you kids grab your things and I’ll see you home,” Officer Lestrade suggested as Molly stepped closer to Sherlock and looked at the cuts on his face. She nodded and said, “That would be very much appreciated.”

“I’ll just be a moment while I grab our things,” Molly said, giving Sherlock’s arm a gentle squeeze and leaving the men alone. 

Sherlock looked to Lestrade and asked, “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” Lestrade said with a relieved tone, “the other men ran when I arrived and I’m not a fan of the shit they tried to pull with those kids. In this case… no victim, no crime.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said gratefully. He didn’t care about being arrested but he did not want to put Molly through the ordeal. If her parents knew he had gotten in trouble, he knew they would never let her see him again. He knew he acted irrationally but the terrified look on those children’s faces overtook his senses. He was just glad to know they were safe.

Molly returned to them, struggling to carry the books they had brought along with her beach bag. She had crammed the towels and their street clothes in them and tried to hang onto Sherlock’s shoes with her fingertips hooked into the heel.

“Let me take those,” Lestrade said quickly, taking the books from Molly’s arms. Sherlock had moved to help but a throbbing pain struck him in the side. He cringed but said nothing, allowing the officer to lead them from the pool area. Molly couldn’t help but look around at the other people who were staring at them. She could see several people from school whispering and laughing in her direction. Normally, she would be embarrassed if she saw people talking about her like that, but she was not ashamed of Sherlock or his actions. She strutted proudly beside him. He noticed her sudden confidence and found himself smiling through the pain.

Lestrade led the teenagers to his patrol car. Sherlock urged Molly to take the front seat. Even though they were not being arrested, people would talk if she was seen in the back seat of the car. If she rode in front, it would show their neighbors that she was receiving a courtesy lift home. Sherlock gave Lestrade his address, wanting to avoid conflict with Molly’s parents if they say that a police officer had brought them home.

While in the back of the car, Sherlock carefully pulled his shirt on while Molly thanked Lestrade for his assistance. He was modest in his replies, stating he was simply trying to keep his neighborhood safe. He then looked at Sherlock through the rearview mirror and asked, “How are you holding up back there?”

“I’m fine,” he said plainly. Lestrade then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied, running a hand through his sweaty dark curls that were growing since graduation. Every summer he let his hair grow out as much as he could before his mother dragged him to the barber to shear it off for school. Now that he was free of high school, he intended to grow his hair out and keep it that. 

Lestrade asked, “You related to Mycroft Holmes?”

“That’s my brother,” Sherlock said as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Molly rolled her eyes with a slight smile but said nothing. Lestrade laughed, “I graduated with ol’ Mycroft. What’s he up to these days?”

“He’s a slave to the government,” Sherlock informed him. The officer then asked, “You mean he was drafted?”

Sherlock sneered, “No, he’s the one who does the drafting.”

While Sherlock didn’t truly know exactly what Mycroft did, he saw the guilt in his face whenever someone talked about the young men being shipped off to war. It didn’t take a genius to understand that Mycroft had sold his soul. 

In an attempt to make the conversation lighter, Lestrade looked to Molly and asked, “And you are?”

“Molly Hooper.”

“Christ,” Lestrade huffed, “You’re Daniel’s sister?” 

Molly paled and nodded quietly. Sherlock leaned forward on the metal grate that separated him from the front of the car. He wanted to reach through it and grab her hand.

“I knew Daniel. He was two years below me. I’m sorry about what happened to him,” Lestrade said with a tone of respect for her late brother. She nodded again and took a deep breath. Sherlock could see the tension in her shoulders and hear her forced breathing. She looked to Lestrade and said, “What was my pompous ass of a brother like in high school?”

Molly was surprised that Sherlock would willingly want to talk about his brother, but she knew that he knew that she was upset. She hated when people brought up Daniel or talked about the war. Her heart ached for her brother constantly. He had been her best friend and protector throughout her entire life. When he had died, she felt a piece of her go with him. Even her parents were still recovering from the loss of their son. Daniel had been a happy kid his entire life. He worked hard to make his family proud and he showed so much promise and potential. They had expected great things from him. 

When he received his letter summoning him to the recruiting office, he immediately enlisted, saying it was his honor to serve his country. When he died, his country didn’t care. 

Molly’s father had almost lost his job when he took two days off to meet his son’s remains at the airfield. They had to rush Daniel’s burial so that he could return to work. Molly’s mother, who was a nurse at the senior center, had returned after taking a week to grieve to find that her absence was used as the reason for all the things that went wrong while she was gone. She was subsequently fired. Even Molly had been given zeros on several tests and assignments that were missed because of the funeral. She managed to recover her grades, but it seemed no one cared about the young man who had died for them.

Lestrade, happy to get away from the subject of the war, replied to Sherlock, “He was the smartest guy I’ve ever seen but boy did he enjoy eating cake in the home ec class.”

Sherlock laughed but then clutched his ribs in pain. He then said, “That was worth the pain.”

The rest of the ride was quiet and the teenagers politely thanked Officer Lestrade for his assistance and for the drive home. He helped bring their belonging to the front door and shook Sherlock’s hand before telling them both to keep out of trouble. They made lighthearted promises and waved from the porch as he pulled away from the house and drove off. 

“Are you ok?” Sherlock asked before he opened the front door. Molly met his blue eyes and nodded quietly. She didn’t want to talk about it and Sherlock could tell. He then opened the door for Molly and ushered her inside. He grabbed their belongings with one arm and tossed him in the front door without a care and then kicked the door shut behind him once they were inside.

“You children are back already?” Violet called out from the kitchen, stepping into the hallway wearing a blue apron covered in flour. She looked to Molly first and then to Sherlock and gasped, “What happened?! Who did that to my beautiful boy?!”

Molly stepped aside as Violet almost tackled her son. She grabbed his face and examined the damage to his exquisite cheek bone and shapely lips. She let out a cry and said, “Get in the kitchen this instant and we’ll get some ice of that.”

Sherlock pulled from his mother and said, “I’ll be fine. I don’t need ice.”

His mother was not hearing any of it as she pushed him into the kitchen against his will. Molly followed quietly behind them and sat at the island counter in the kitchen next to Sherlock as Violet went digging in the freezer for the ice tray. Molly watched with amusement as she doted on her son, wrapping several large cubes of ice in a dish cloth and then forcing him to hold it against his face.

“Now,” Violet demanded, “You tell me what happened this instant.”

Sherlock briefly explained about the situation with the children at the pool. Molly was happy to see that she was as proud of Sherlock as she was. She kissed Sherlock’s forehead and promised to make his favorite pie for dessert. Now that she had been satisfied with answers, she let Sherlock and Molly leave the kitchen. Despite the exception of graduation night, Molly was still not allowed up in Sherlock’s room, so they resigned themselves to the living room after changing back into their regular clothes. They turned the television set on and watched a program about the Apollo missions. In just a few weeks, Apollo 11 was expected to launch and bring the first men to ever step on the moon. Sherlock seemed relatively bored with the space program, but Molly couldn’t help but be fascinated by it all. She imagined what the moon would look like once they were there.

Despite the pain Sherlock felt in his side, he still wrapped an arm around Molly and held her close to him. She took comfort in warmth and embrace and leaned her head gently on his chest. As they sat there, Molly found it harder and harder to focus on the screen as Sherlock’s hand toyed with the strap of her bra that had peaked out from under her shirt. His fingers gently ran along the lacey fabric, occasionally slipping underneath it entirely, rolling the strap between his fingers. She took several shaky breaths before placing a hand on Sherlock’s knee. She heard Sherlock suck in a ragged breath and panicked, pulling her hand away. His free hand caught her own. He was about to place her hand back on his knee when he heard the steps of his mother’s heels on the hardwood floor approaching. He let go her hand stopped playing with her bra strap.

Violet entered the living room carrying a tray with lemon pound cake and iced tea. She set in on the coffee table before them and said, “I thought you kids might enjoy some snacks.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Holmes,” Molly replied politely. Sherlock muttered a quiet thanks but eyed her with annoyance. When she finally left the room again Sherlock said huffed, “Can we ever get more than a minute of privacy?” Molly blushed at his declaration of frustration and met his eye, “One day.”

“One day,” he repeated, ducking his head down to press a kiss to her lips. It hurt but he ignored the pain as he heard a content sigh escape from her lips as he pulled back. She gave him a concerned smile and waiting, “Does waiting bother you?”

Sherlock met her and told her firmly, “You are worth the wait.”

“What if I didn’t want to wait?” she asked with curiosity dancing in her voice. He smiled, “I believe Molly Hooper is feeling the temptation to sin.” She blushed further, and his grin spread as her neck turned red. He kissed her again and said, “You know I don’t believe in your god, but I will make sure you do right by him.”

Molly studied his face. He was not mocking her or her beliefs. She felt a warming feeling spread within her as she gushed, “I love you so much, Sherlock.”

“I love you, Molly Hooper,” he replied. He kissed her once more before they were interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock peered over Molly’s head to see Mycroft in the hallway. He huffed with annoyance as his brother joined them in the living room.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked rudely when his brother stepped into the room. He glared at Sherlock and said, “I live here just like you and have just as much right to the living room.”

“Not for much longer,” Sherlock shot back. Mycroft rolled his eyes before going to the television and changing the channel to watch the news. He sat down on the love seat adjacent to the couch. 

Mycroft was closing on a house in D.C. within a fortnight. He was looking forward to having his own home, but he felt a constant dread at leaving Sherlock to his own devices. While their parents had the best of intentions, they hardly knew how to handle Sherlock. He might legally be an adult, but he had the temperament of a child. He stressed daily about what would happen once Sherlock left for college.

He looked over his younger brother and then asked with disgust, “What happened to your face?”

“What happened to all the cookies in the house?” Sherlock shot back. Mycroft rolled his eyes, “Very mature, Sherlock.”

Molly glanced between the brothers and interrupted, “Perhaps I should go home. I’m sure my mother could use help with dinner.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Sherlock said, ignoring the pain in his body as he stood from the couch quickly and offered a bruised hand for Molly to take. Mycroft sneered, “Yes, walk her home because you can’t drive.”

Sherlock fought the urge to fight back. He made a conscious decision not to get his driver’s license. He had explained to his family that the carbon dioxide emitted from combustible engines would destroy the environment. He had written a detailed report about it for the school’s science fair during his junior year but the teacher’s laughed him off. Only Molly had listened to his well-constructed hypothesis along with the data that he had accumulated from decades of farmer’s almanacs along with experiments he had performed himself. While many of the students their ages were driving, she had agreed with Sherlock that neither one of them needed a car. Many of the places they enjoyed going to could easily be walked to. Some days, Molly would ride her bike, but she knew Sherlock never learned how to ride a bike.

Molly and Sherlock stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. Violet was drinking from a glass of wine while looking over a cookbook on the counter. Sherlock cleared his throat, gaining her attention before saying, “I’m going to walk Molly home.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride instead?” she asked them. Sherlock declined despite the pain and promised to be home before dark. His mother smiled with concern but said, “Be careful. Will we be seeing you tomorrow, Molly?” 

Molly nodded, “My parents will drop me off after mass.” Violet smiled and asked, “I was going to make a lovely roast tomorrow. Do ask your parents if you can stay for dinner tomorrow.” The young woman happily nodded and said, “I’ll ask them tonight. Have a good evening, Mrs. Holmes.”

“You too, dear,” Violet said as Sherlock guided Molly to the front door. She grabbed her bag and her anatomy book despite Sherlock’s offer to carry them. She knew he should stay home and rest but if he wouldn’t do that, she would not allow him to exert himself further.

The walk to Molly’s was slow and relaxing despite the lingering heat of the day. They started their journey to her house talking about the upcoming space launch before Sherlock finally confessed, “I don’t know anything about the solar system.”

Molly wanted to laugh. She had learned the planets of the solar system when she was a child. She refrained from ridiculing him when she considered the wealth of knowledge in his beautiful head. He knew things she couldn’t ever dream of. He was entitled to have a few missing pieces, even if they were common knowledge. She could tell that Sherlock appreciated that she didn’t press the issue further.

“Sherlock?” Molly said his name curiously after a break in their conversation. He hummed in response and she continued, “I’m very proud of you for standing up for those boys today.”

“It was the decent thing to do,” Sherlock replied plainly. She smiled to herself and hugged her book tightly against her chest and said, “Those are funny words for someone who doesn’t care about the rest of the world.”

“I despise willful ignorance. Those boys were innocent,” he said, correcting her assumption. She glanced at him and said, “You always surprise me, Sherlock.” This time Sherlock smiled, “You inspire me to be a better man.”

Molly shifted the textbook under her right arm and captured Sherlock’s hand. His fingers quickly entangled with hers and they swing their joined hands lazily between them as they walked. 

“I sent me application to Harvard yesterday,” Molly suddenly said.

Sherlock looked at her with surprise, not sure of what to say. The idea of her being at the same school excited him. He squeezed her hand and finally said, “If they don’t accept you, I’ll threaten to leave.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she ordered him, “Besides, I have contingencies in place.” 

Sherlock let his mind race to the future, something he tried to avoid doing and said, “If you get accepted to Harvard, perhaps we can get an apartment near campus.”

Before Molly could protest that they might have trouble finding an apartment as an unmarried couple he said, “Of course, we’d have to marry first. I imagine next summer would be most appropriate.” Her heart soared at his words. She looked to him and said, “I’d marry you now if I was old enough.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he responded. The rest of their walk was relatively quiet. 

When they arrived at Molly’s house, her mother was sitting on the porch, fanning herself as she rocked in her chair next to a glass of lemonade. They released each other’s hands.

Sarah Hooper smiled at the young couple and said with a friendly tone, “Hello, Sherlock.”

It always surprised him how accepting Molly’s mother was of him. He dreaded the days that he had to interact with Molly’s father. He despised Sherlock and only treated him in a civil manner when his wife stared him down. He supposed it was just a father being protective of his daughter, but he had been nothing but kind of Molly. He would lay down his life for her if needed. He didn’t care what James thought of him, but he at least wanted him to know they shared a common interest.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hooper,” Sherlock replied politely. Molly smiled at the friendly tone he reserved for her mother. She was one of his few fans and he always respected her for that.

As they came closer to the house, Sarah was able to see the injuries bestowed on her daughter’s boyfriend. She gasped, “What on earth happened to you?”

“There was an incident at the pool,” Molly explained, “but Sherlock was on the right side of the fight.”

Sarah was not happy at that response but said, “I hope whoever it was deserved such brutal violence.”

Molly nodded, “They did.”

“I’ll pray for your wounds to heal quickly,” Sarah said kindly before ushering Molly up the porch steps. Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes. Molly waved to Sherlock from the top step, she could not kiss him goodbye in front of her mother. “Thank you for walking me home,” she said warmly. Sherlock simply smiled in response.

“Go inside and wash your hands, I need help peeling potatoes,” her mother instructed her. She kissed her mother’s cheek before entering the house. Sarah looked down at Sherlock from her place above and him and said, “I hope you’re not putting my daughter in dangerous situations.”

“I promise you that she was safe. I would never let harm come to her,” he told her boldly. Sarah believed his words and said, “I trust you, Sherlock. Thank you for bringing her home. I’ll let your mother know you’re on your way back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper,” Sherlock replied before turning away from the house and heading back to the street. His walk home was slower, and he allowed his pain to be more vocalized. 

As Sherlock limped home, he thought about what he had promised to Molly. He wanted to make her his wife and he meant it when he said he wanted to get her a proper ring with his own money. He knew if he asked his parents for help, they would happily give him the funds to purchase a ring worthy of Molly. Still, his pride would not allow him to stoop so low as to have his parents subsidize the cost of his future happiness. He knew that he would have to work if he wanted money the idea of working some menial job seemed like an incredible waste of time.

Sherlock briefly considered asking Mycroft if there was a position he could procure for the summer, but having to see his brother more than he already did seemed repulsive. He also shuddered at the thought of working with his father. He considered a paper route, but he hated waking up so early and without being able to ride a bike, it would take ages to deliver all the papers. 

As Sherlock continued home, he paused at an intersection and noticed a xeroxed notice taped to the telephone pole. It was a ‘Missing’ sign for a sixteen-year-old boy who had run away from home almost a week ago. He studied the picture for several moments and determined that the boy could most likely be found in one of a string of abandoned houses set to be demolished at the end of the summer for a new freeway. The houses were infamous for the semi-regular police raids that occurred. It seemed no one learned that the police were well-aware that those houses were drug dens. After a few more moments, Sherlock deduced that the boy was an inexperienced heroin user.

At the bottom of the sign in bold letters read, ‘Reward For Information: $100’

Sherlock pulled the notice down and folded it meticulously before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. The money was not enough to buy Molly a ring, but it would a start. He considered his options. He could go home and pursue the missing boy in the morning or he could make a slight detour and confirm his deductions. Despite the discomfort he felt, he knew how satisfied he’d feel going to bed $100 richer. 

Sherlock went left instead of right and started the trek to the abandoned houses. It was only a mile away and he found energy to power own despite his aching ribs. His body felt relief when he saw the peaks of the roofs in the distance. There were only three houses still standing and went into the first house. It was a crumbling one-story home with no windows and gaping holes in the roof. The front door had been kicked down long ago and any attempts to board the doorway had proved futile.

After taking a deep breath and considering what could be waiting for him inside the house, Sherlock found the courage to walk up the uneven pathway to the house. The concrete had cracked and weeds had sprouted between them. He finally reached the front door and peered his head inside. 

The house smelled strongly of urine and something resembling burnt rubber. He cautiously stepped inside and allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim surroundings. He went a few steps further until he stood in what should have been a living room. There were broken couches and a dirty mattress on the floor, but no one was in there. He then checked the two bedrooms, kitchen, and bathroom of the house but found no souls there. He did find many traces of illegal substances put he was careful not to touch anything. 

Sherlock moved onto the second house. He found the conditions similar to the first, but the two people he had found inside were not of interest to him. They had been too high to even acknowledge his presence let alone answer any questions for him.

Finally, Sherlock moved the last house. He had to climb through a hole in a wall to get inside due to a large tree that had fallen and blocked the front door. Once inside, he found himself in the liveliest house. In the living room alone there were two women, curled up in each other’s arms but not aware of anything. He could see a needle still in the arm of one of the women. He cringed but looked around.

Two men were sitting amongst a pile of dirty blankets and towels. They smiled to Sherlock and one asked, “Would you like a taste?”

“No thanks,” Sherlock declined and moved on as he saw them begin to search for veins from the corner of his eye. He popped his head into the kitchen and almost cheered for himself when he found the familiar face he had been looking for. Slumped on the floor in a gap between the counters where a stove used to sit was missing boy from the poster. Sherlock pulled the poster out and unfolded it to get the boy’s name.

“Are you Carlisle?” Sherlock asked him. His eyes were rolled up into his head, but the boy hummed in response. Sherlock refolded the poster and tucked it back into his pocket. He bent over, grunting loudly in pain and grabbed Carlisle by his wrists and began to tug.

The pain was excruciating but Sherlock managed to pull the boy to his feet and support him. Despite his own struggles, he led him from the kitchen back to the hole in the wall. Sherlock ignored his body’s protests as he shoved the lanky teenager with dirty blonde hair through the gap. He climbed through after him and supported his weight as he almost dragged him from the house.

Sherlock knew their town well enough to know where the boy’s address was as it was printed on the poster. It was slow work as they navigated the streets of Sherrinford and it was close to dark before they arrived at Carlisle’s house. By that point he had become more aware of what was happening and had managed to support most of his weight.

Before they approached the front door on the modest two-story house, Carlisle asked Sherlock to stop and said, “Hey man, can you take this?” He dug his grubby hand into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of brown wax paper. Sherlock didn’t need to look inside to guess what was in it.

“My parents are totally going to flush it when I go inside. I’d hate for it to go to waste,” Carlisle said with a dreamy expression on his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes but took the packet. He pocketed it before knocking the front door. 

It took almost a minute before the door was opened, they were greeted by a short woman with a worried expression on her face. She looked to Sherlock first but then realized who was standing beside and shrieked, “Carlisle!”

A man’s voice echoed through the house, “He’s back?”

“Tony, he’s back!” the woman yelled and then quickly ushered Sherlock and Carlisle inside. He helped Carlisle to the living room and dropped him unceremoniously on the couch. The younger boy groaned and grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and pulled it over his head. 

A larger man hustled into the living room and stood beside the woman, staring at his the boy in the couch with relief. 

“Where was he?” the man, Sherlock presumed was Tony, asked. He explained exactly where he had found Carlisle so that they might be able to find him there should he disappear again. He left out the part when their son had handed off drugs to him only moments ago.

Sherlock calmly pulled out the flyer in his pocket as the woman gushed over the annoyed teenager on the couch. He held it to Tony and said, “I believe you were offering a reward?”

Tony’s round face fell as he looked at the flyer. His face turned red as he said, “Shit, I didn’t think anyone who even be able to help. Angie, do you have any cash on you?”

The woman looked up at the two men and frowned, “I’m so sorry. I think I have about $7 in my purse.”

“Keep your money,” Sherlock said, handing Tony the flyer. He ignored their offers for dinner as he calmly left their house. He slammed the door unceremoniously behind him. He briefly berated himself for not calling home before he left. He was exhausted and aching more than ever. He couldn’t wait to crash on his bed. 

It was almost another two miles to get home. The street lights were on and the sky was pitch black. He limped steadily and felt immense relief when he finally arrived at his house. His parents had panicked when he came inside. They yelled at him for being gone for so long. They had said they were close to calling the cops when he didn’t turn up after Mrs. Hooper had called them. He belittled their concerns and wished his parents a good night. He dragged himself up to his room and locked the door behind him.

Sherlock could not be bothered to strip and allowed himself to collapse on his bed fully clothed before he fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I wanted to challenge myself by going back in time with this story. I'm trying my best to stick to history as we know but I know I'm not 100% accurate. I ask that you forgive me and try to enjoy the story. Let me know what you think and don't forgot to drop off a kudos if you like it!


	3. The Job Offer

Mycroft Holmes frowned heavily as he glanced over the morning paper from the comfort of his own dining room. His coffee was long forgotten and cold as he read the headlines. Plastered on the front page of the Sherrinford Times was a large picture of his brother with the headline, _The World’s First Consulting Detective!_

As a ploy to earn money over the summer, Sherlock had invented some ridiculous title and was going around town finding lost pets for rewards and offering unsolicited advice to the local police department. At first, no one took the younger Holmes brother seriously until he was able to point out irrefutable proof that led to the conviction of a man for the murder of his wife’s parents. He had become friends with a local officer who had recently been promoted to detective and was, though this was not public knowledge, giving him access to police records. Mycroft himself had come across a few promotions of his own and used his newfound access to the government’s most secure databases to ensure that Sherlock did not find himself a target of theirs. He was finding it becoming increasingly difficult as his security clearances were not as high as level as he wished them to be.

Having Sherlock’s face on every newspaper in the area was not a positive in Mycroft’s eyes. He slammed the paper down and stood from the table. He went into kitchen where two identical telephones were mounted on the wall beside each other. He grabbed the right phone and it immediately rang with no need to connect to a switchboard operator. It only took the single ring before he heard the voice of his assistant, Anthea, “Thank you for calling the office of Mycroft Holmes. How can I-”

“It’s me,” Mycroft said firmly, “push back all my meetings. I need to address an issue with my brother.”

“I saw the morning paper,” Anthea replied calmly, “the President saw it too. He’s not happy about a civilian having that much access to information.”

Mycroft groaned, “If the president calls for me, tell him I’m handling the situation.”

He roughly hung the phone back on the wall before storming through his home, getting himself decent. He straightened his tie and donned his suit jacket before grabbing his briefcase. Mycroft took a good look around the living room of his home before closing the front door behind him.

Mycroft had been in his new home for almost two weeks. Settling in had been easy thanks to the movers he had hired that unpacked his possessions and delivered his new furniture for him. He hadn’t had a single moment to enjoy it. He had been working almost non-stop. He arrived home at midnight and every morning he was heading to work as the sun was rising. Today was supposed to be an exception. He had purposely scheduled all his meetings later in the morning so that he could take a moment to be in the large house he had worked so hard for.

His mother had scoffed when he told her he was buying a four-bedroom house with five bathrooms and a pool. “What are you going to do with all that space?!” she cried out. He honestly had no idea, but it made him feel like he had something tangible to show for the long hours he put forth at work. It wasn’t like he was going to marry and have a family.

It wasn’t for lack of trying that Mycroft was single. He had dated in college. He was particularly fond of a quiet brunette, Lucy Baker, who was studying business at the neighboring women’s college. They went on nearly a dozen dates, mostly to the library and occasionally to the bar just off-campus. She always laughed a little when he kissed her, but it wasn’t directed toward him or his abilities. She had confessed that she felt so happy when he kissed her, she couldn’t help but giggle. At first, he found it charming, but soon he found it irritating. On their last date, he sighed in annoyance and asked her to stop.

“I can’t help that I’m happy,” she said with a fading smile. He had replied cruelly, “But you could show some control.” She had grabbed her purse and left him alone in the booth they hid away in at the bar. The first few days after that, he had convinced himself that he was better off without Lucy and her laughing. It would have only gotten more annoying the longer it went on. Two months after she had left him, he found himself missing the sound of her happiness. He considered apologizing to her until he ran into her at a scholarship award ceremony. She was on the arm of another man. He saw them kiss and when she giggled, the man smiled with adoration. He knew he didn’t deserve such happiness. He simply didn’t know what to do with it. Six months later they were engaged. She soon disenrolled from school and married him. He had seen the announcement in the newspaper and pretended he didn’t see it when eating breakfast with fellow students one morning in the dining hall.

Mycroft dated a few other girls, but he was repulsed by their obsessions with finding husbands. It was common for girls to go to school just for that purpose, but he did not want a housewife. He wanted an intellectual equal. For a moment he considered Sherlock and Molly. He’d never admit it, but he felt almost envious of their relationship despite his disapproval. She exposed so many weaknesses in his younger brother, yet she fortified different strengths in him that even Mycroft didn’t know he had. 

It was a surprising relief to finally arrive at his family’s home. Traffic had been tolerable, and he had arrived in good time. His day should not be completely overthrown for the unplanned detour to Sherrinford. 

He felt a pull in his chest as if the house were alive and embracing him on his return. He was not surprised to see his father’s car gone as it was a work day after all. His mother’s car was also missing from the driveway. He supposed she was running errands. 

A pastel pink bike rested on the ground by the steps of the front porch, indicating the presence of a certain young woman. He let himself into the house quietly and slipped his shoes off at the door before removing his jacket and hanging it on the hook.

He could see down the hallway that there was no one in the living room. He popped his head into the kitchen to also find it empty. He went upstairs to see if Sherlock might be in his room and froze in his brother’s half-opened doorway.

Sherlock was resting on his back with Molly curled up beside him. Thankfully, he thought, they were both fully dressed. He observed them for a moment, noting how Molly had an arm wrapped protectively around Sherlock’s stomach while he had an arm wrapped around her shoulders. He saw a glimmer of light and noticed she was wearing a thin gold chain around her neck. It looped through an ornate gold piece that he knew was Sherlock’s class ring alongside a plain gold gross. The heavy ring was resting on his chest, only a few inches away from Molly’s chin. 

They looked terribly cramped on the twin-sized bed, but it didn’t keep them from sleeping soundly. He knew they had not shared intimate relations, but he still found himself frowning with disapproval. The still rising sun was shining through the blinds and falling on them both in stretched lines, creating a glowing effect on the pair. It was almost as if the universe was bestowing a blessing on their union.

Mycroft felt a pull of jealously within him at how content the pair seemed. He had never seen Sherlock’s face so calmed and relaxed. He also felt replaceable and unneeded. He had spent years imaging his brother’s life bursting into the flames as soon as he moved out. Even at college, he called home regularly to ensure everything was ok. The world was still turning despite his absence. 

Realizing that he had no place in this house, and also unsure of how to proceed due to Molly’s presence, Mycroft silently departed. He gathered his things and climbed into his car, cursing himself for being so foolish to spend his entire morning driving to Sherrinford and back.

It felt strange that he had been gone for only a short period of time, but his hometown felt distant. He knew all the roads and turns but he noticed little changes. The neighbor across the street had repainted their chipping white picket fence so it looked new and fresh. The loud Italian family down the road had expanded their front porch. He passed St. Christopher’s and saw they were adding a tennis court.

It was clear that Mycroft was a stationary man in an evolving world. He had tried so hard to keep things to his liking that he didn’t consider there were better options all around him. He had intended on forcing Sherlock to meet his demands and follow a path he felt would best suit him. It was clear that his little brother would never respect him despite his best intentions, yet he could not be wholly trusted to make the best decisions. 

Mycroft idled at the last red light before getting back onto the interstate that would suck him right back into the grey bubble that was the nation’s capital. He would have to explain to his superiors why he was late and admit he accomplished nothing because he had been scared to wake his little brother and his girlfriend. He would have to account for why he wasn’t keeping to their status quo. As per Anthea, the president was not happy, not that he ever was. 

This was not what Mycroft had ever intended when he started working for the government. He was fresh-faced like many of those he graduated, with hopes that they would shape and mold the country to be better prepared for a brighter future. He was simply following the rules laid out by those before him. He had been vehemently opposed to the war and had only gently presented his case for why it needed to end. His superiors had struck down his proposals with rapid fire and he had dropped the issue and fell into line. He showed them he had no backbone.

That was going to end.

Mycroft ignored the honks and yelling when the light turned green and he made a less than graceful u-turn. He rolled through stop signs and quickly returned to his family’s home. When he arrived again, he grabbed the newspaper from the front seat and tucked it under his arm. He slammed his car door loudly and stomped heavily on the porch steps. He threw the front door shut with intentional force so that the noise would echo through the house. He knew Sherlock’s bedroom door had remained open as he had been taking advantage of their mother’s absence. He expected he would sneak Molly out of the house before she could be discovered once they heard her arrival. Violet Holmes would never condone the young couple being in such a position alone. At most, Sherlock might get a slap on the wrist but even Mycroft knew that if they tried this stunt at Molly’s and her parents found out, their relationship would be terminated immediately.

Mycroft purposely took heavy steps as he ascended to the second floor of the house. He was giving Sherlock and Molly fair warning of his arrival. He approached the top of the stairs and turned to look into Sherlock’s room, wearing a neutral face. He didn’t want his intentions to be obvious as Sherlock could normally read him quite well despite his best efforts to prevent it from happening.

He was glad to see his loud entrance had stirred the young couple who looked to him in shock and guilt through tired eyes. Molly was the first to speak, “Nothing happened, I swear.” Her voice was determined, but the fear was evident.

Before Sherlock said anything, Mycroft viciously replied, “And if you want me to stick to that story you will leave the house this instant.”

“You have no authority in this house!” Sherlock bellowed with sleep still tangled in his voice. He looked confused but quite angry at his brother’s sudden intrusion. The couple had snuck out near midnight to break into a crime scene that had been roped off by the police department. A young man had been discovered after his parent’s returned from a trip to a resort in the Catskills. It looked like a suicide, but Sherlock had discussed the case with Lestrade after supper at their usual meetup at the community park. He slipped Sherlock a key and provided him with all the facts he had to that point. They were supposed to meet that evening to discuss Sherlock’s findings.

Sherlock did not like bringing Molly into the mix, especially since everything he was doing was to save money for her engagement ring. It felt wrong to have her come with him as it made it feel like she was working for her own ring. Despite that objection, he would often review his case notes and findings with her. She was clever and would make connections or propose theories Sherlock was simply not imaginative enough for. She had a better working of the human mind than he did. He saw other people as pests, but she saw them as individual wonders. Her connection to human emotions and behaviors was invaluable. 

Molly had snuck out of her own home to meet with Sherlock, returned before her parents had woken up, and then feigned a cheerful and well-rested disposition before telling them that she was going to Sherlock’s. They trusted her unreservedly and told her to send well-wishes to his parents. She promised she would and stomached the guilt when she kissed their cheeks before running outside to hop on her bicycle. If her parents knew she had lied… she didn’t even want to think of what would happen.

Despite Sherlock tugging Molly’s arm to bring her back onto his bed, she stood and straightened her clothes. She looked to Mycroft with a pleading look that said she would do what he said as long as he said nothing of the position he had found her in. He gave her a nod with a confirming look though it did little to soothe the sinking feeling she felt in her core.

“I’ll call you later,” Molly said, not looking back at Sherlock as she quickly departed his room. Her rapid steps were heard until the front door was opened and slammed shut once more. 

Sherlock glared at Mycroft, “You have no right to threaten Molly’s reputation regarding her virginity when I know you’ve bedded at least four women since you went to college.”

“At least I’m not pretending virginity is a real thing that could condemn a person to a fiery pit of damnation,” Mycroft said mockingly. He knew Molly was religious, which always surprised him that his logical little brother could look past it. Sherlock rolled his eyes, “While it’s none of your concern, I respect the decisions Molly makes for her body, regardless of the reasons she makes them.”

“I imagine it must be frustrating,” his brother replied with a smirk. Sherlock stood up, his entire body displayed how furious he was. His hands balled into fists, “What do you want, Mycroft?” His teeth were clenched, and his words forced through them.

Mycroft pulled the newspaper from under his arm and allowed it to drop open by grasping it from the top. The headlines screamed out at Sherlock who then found himself smiling and crossing his arms over his chest casually, “That’s clever, right?”

“Clever?” Mycroft asked skeptically, dropping the paper to the carpeted floor. He knew took his know empty hand and pinched the bridge of his noise with his thumb and forefinger. He signed heavily with annoyance and disdain, “You need to stop this ridiculous hobby immediately.”

Sherlock laughed, “Hobby? Brother, this is a career. I might not even attend Harvard with business going so well!”

Mycroft moved quickly, grabbing Sherlock by the collar of his grey shirt and growled, “You will attend Harvard and stop playing these silly games!”

“Why do you care what I do?” Sherlock pushed back. He pulled Mycroft’s hand from him before taking a step back. His brother’s face contorted into something of complete disgust. He looked as if a rotten egg had just broken in the room. He waved to the paper he dropped on the ground and was currently stepping on, “Do you not understand that we’re at war? If you don’t go to school, you could be drafted and I’m not yet in a position that I can prevent that from happening.”

“They don’t draft people they think are crazy. One conversation with me and they’ll BEG me to ignore my draft notice,” Sherlock replied coolly. He had heard the stories of what it took to be exempt from the draft. He had made acquaintances with a man in one of the houses he had found that boy in a few weeks prior. He returned two days after Carlisle had bestowed a packet of brownish powder to inquire what he had been given. The man was probably in his early twenties but looked as if he aged poorly from his drug consumption. He said his name was Wiggins and that the packet contained heroin, his drug of choice. He told Sherlock that the drug had saved him from being drafted. He displayed the track marks up and down his arms and said, “There ain’t no way the army wants a junkie. You keep that in mind if your number comes up.”

Sherlock did not oblige Wiggins when he asked if he could have the packet. He pocketed it again and then stayed in the house for several hours. He watched as people came and went. They rolled around in the filth of the abandoned home as they rode out their highs. He studied their methods on how they prepared and injected the drug. He noticed the euphoria that had spread across their faces. He questioned them throughout the process. He was fascinated by their state of mind before indulging in their vices, their expressions of pleasure at the peak of their high, and the recognition that returned when they came back down. 

The packet was still in Sherlock’s possession and he had yet to use it. Despite knowing that it would be a poor choice, he still felt curious about trying it. He found it revolting that people had shared needles. He had gone to a pharmacy downtown where no one knew him to purchase syringes. He had said he needed them for his diabetic grandfather. The pharmacist gave him a disinterested look, having been familiar with so many young people buying syringes with a similar story. 

The needles and packet of heroin were tucked safely underneath his bed. He knew no one was likely to go there and he considered it a plan for a rainy day without Molly around. The pair were nearly inseparable, and it was something that he knew she would not want to see.

“Nixon’s draft is ruthless, Sherlock. They will take you and ship you to that jungle without a second thought about your state of mind,” Mycroft warned him. Sherlock scoffed by his brother continued, “You’re on the president’s radar. He’s a paranoid man and he doesn’t like what he’s reading about you in the papers.”

“So, like a loyal government dog, you came here pretending you were looking out for my best interests when in reality you’re looking to save your own hide,” Sherlock argued. He pushed Mycroft off him, causing him to step back. He bent down and picked up the crumbled newspaper on his floor. He held it up for Mycroft, pointing at the headlines and said, “I can take care of myself but why don’t you help these men who actually need all the support they can get?”

“Do you think I haven’t been trying?” Mycroft asked harshly, “I’m doing everything I can to make the executive powers of this fowled up government see reason.” His younger brother rolled his clear blue eyes, “You have no power in your position and you definitely have no power here. It’s time for you to leave, Mycroft.”

Sherlock pushed Mycroft from his room and into the hallway. They glared daggers at each other before Mycroft finally said, “I have no power now, but I will one day. You had best hope it happens before it’s too late for me to save you.”

“I don’t need your help, brother. I don’t need anyone’s help,” Sherlock growled before slamming his door shut. Mycroft stared at the wood for several moments before composing himself. He straightened his tie before turning away and walking down the stairs. He stepped outside and before he turned to lock the door, he saw Molly struggling with her bike chain at the bottom of the porch stairs. He secured the door and approached her despite her obvious attempt to avoid looking at him.

Mycroft softened his features, realizing his brows were scrunched together and a snarl was fixed on his face. He gently frowned and stepped before her. Molly’s dark eyes looked at his feet as she crouched over her bike as it laid on the ground. He said, “I apologize for my words to you inside. I would never mark your reputation in such a way.”

The younger woman looked surprise and slowly lifted her head to meet Mycroft’s apologetic face. He despised apologizing, but he knew instantly that he had been unnecessarily cruel to her when his target had been his brother. She simply nodded before looking back down at her bicycle. Her hands were coated with the thick black grease from the chain that had popped off the spokes of the mechanism. He could see her struggling with frustration and anxiety from his presence and what had just occurred minutes earlier. He pulled on the fabric of his trousers to allow him to squat beside her without tearing the fabric and then plucked the handkerchief from his suit pocket. He used it to grab the chain, causing Molly to release it. She watched him with further disbelief as he made quick and clean work of setting the chain. 

“Thank you,” she muttered as Mycroft handed her the dirty fabric to wipe her grimy hands on. She hesitated but he said, “It’s already ruined, you might as well.”

Molly’s fingers gently brushed Mycroft’s as she took the pale-yellow square of fabric and wiped at her fingers. She quickly realized she had had transferred a smudge of grease on Mycroft’s thumb. She blushed and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft studied the black mark and smiled kindly, “No apologies needed. Consider us even?”

Molly nodded in response and stood up, pulling the bicycle onto its wheels. Mycroft stood as well and said, “Well, I best be off.”

“I’m trying to get him to go to school,” Molly called to Mycroft’s back as he made his way to his car. He paused but did not turn to her. She continued, “I want Sherlock safe as badly as you do. I want you to know that we have that in common.”

Mycroft looked over his shoulder, “Then I’m indebted to you, Ms. Hooper.” She smiled to herself when he continued onto his car. He noticed Molly watching him from his mirror as he pulled out of the driveway. He felt better as he left his hometown.

The drive to work was spent contemplating his morning and how he expected his meetings to go for the remainder of the day. When he arrived at his office, he was met with his subdued secretary and her perfect beehive hair. 

“The president had me cancel all of your afternoon appointments. He wants you to meet him,” Anthea said with slight annoyance. She took pride in ensuring Mycroft’s agenda was always perfectly planned and did not take kindly to being overruled. She had spent all morning rescheduling meetings with heads of different departments. When they tried to push back, she had to stress the order came from above. It seemed everyone understood that the priorities of President Nixon didn’t always match those of anyone else’s and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

There was no point even entering his office. Mycroft took a small stack of messages that Anthea had for him and headed straight back out to the parking garage. With the relentless traffic of D.C., Mycroft arrived at the White House at nearly one in the afternoon. He was escorted to the oval office and to President Richard Nixon, who sat at his desk with a permanent scowl on his face. 

Mycroft waited until the door was closed and they were left alone before saying, “Mr. President, I want to ensure you I have already handled the situation with my brother. I’m deeply mortified…”

“Enough, Holmes,” the president huffed, waving his hand to dismiss his words. Mycroft nodded and closed his mouth. He glanced to the side of the president and saw the recording device he kept in his office with its red light and spinning tape reels showing it was taking in their conversation. The older man sighed heavily and said, “I’ve already sent men to observe him. If I see any sign of communist involvement I’ll have your entire family locked up for treason.”

“I ensure you that Sherlock holds to no political parties,” Mycroft said, he added quickly when the president gave him sudden look of contempt, “Except, of course, the republican party now that he’s of legal voting age.”

The older man looked over Mycroft with a disgust before finally saying, “Very well, but I better not hear any more of him having access to police records.” Mycroft nodded dutifully, “Yes, Mr. President.

“Now that that’s settled,” President Nixon said, with finality in his voice, “Get out of my office.”

Mycroft thanked the president for his time and quickly departed the office. He was escorted promptly from the office to the parking lot, feeling belittled at how he was just treated. He was also angry that he had been forced to clear his schedule for nothing more than a brief scolding. He signed heavily and put his hands on the steering wheel. He eyed the black smudge still on his thumb with an ache in his chest. He quickly rubbed his skin on his suit jacket, not caring if it stained but found it did little to get the grease out of the fine lines of his skin. He decided to ignore it.

The drive went quicker to get back to his office and Anthea said nothing to him as he brushed past her. She could read his moods so well. He truly lucked out with her as his secretary. No matter where he ended up, he would ensure she would work for him and no one else. She was only nineteen, but she was well put together and fierce in everything she did. He admired her spark and dedication.

Mycroft let out a heavy breath that he didn’t know he was holding when he finally crashed into his office chair. He gripped the deep brown leather arm rests and looked around at his small office. His college diploma was the only thing on the wall. Even though it wasn’t much, he didn’t want to lose what he had. He had made steady progress for someone his age and he couldn’t let his brother jeopardize it all. He considered his options as he released his death grip on his chair and folded his hands together, holding them against his lips as he weighed his option.

It took several minutes of sorting his day among the imaginary files in his mind before he looked at his desk and saw that there was a small plate before him with a slice of apple pie neatly resting on it. A testament to Anthea’s amazing intuition was the fact that the whipped cream that was perfectly swirled on the center of the slice had only just begun to soften from the temperature of the room. How she knew exactly when he would arrive back at his office was not certain, but he was appreciative all the same. 

He picked up the fork sitting on the edge of the plate and was quick to bring a hefty bite to his mouth. The crust was savory against the sweet filling that melted in his mouth. He could tell it was homemade and not from a store. He wondered if Anthea had made it herself. He let some of his worries escape his mind as he devoured the slice before him. The moment he placed the fork on the crumb covered plate, a familiar knock echoed in the small room.

“Come in,” Mycroft said, knowing it was his secretary. She stepped inside and asked, “Would you like me to take your plate?”

“Yes, thank you,” Mycroft said, leaning back into his chair as she stepped inside and took the plate. She looked to Mycroft with a polite smile and said, “I received a call from Donahue Warren from the CIA. He’s requesting an audience with you within the hour. Would you like me to confirm the appointment with him?”

Mycroft’s face remained expressionless as he considered why someone from the CIA would want to speak with him. He was almost certain it had to do with Sherlock. Had the president become so irate with him that he couldn’t allow him even a day to get his brother’s behavior under control? He knew the one thing he should not do was show concern. He simply nodded and said, “Yes, bring him in as soon as he arrives.”

“Very good, sir,” Anthea said, nodding in return and quickly departing the office. She closed the door behind her, allowing him a moment to let his heart race and forehead bead with sweat. How had this day gone so terribly wrong so fast? He had done nothing wrong and now he was going to be imprisoned for treason. He only hoped that President Nixon’s threat to incarcerate his entire family had not been real. His parents, as simple minded as they could be, were also innocents. He would do everything in his power to ensure their freedom and safety.

Mycroft, remembering too late that his handkerchief was no longer with him, was forced to wipe the sweat from his face with the back of his tie. He fanned himself with a file on his desk until he felt cooler and more collected. It felt like only moments before another knock on his door told him that his appointment had arrived.

“Come in,” Mycroft called out again, he heard through the door as Anthea said, “Mr. Holmes will see you now.” The door opened, and Anthea ushered in a tall man in a light grey suit with a black tie. He had thick framed glasses on his tan face. His hair was white, but he appeared relatively young. Perhaps in his 30’s at most. Mycroft noted the tan line on his ring finger with the absence of a ring. He showed no signs of emotional stress. His nails were neatly trimmed, his face smoothly shaven, and his hair perfectly styled with a small wave. He was heavy handed on the cologne and the smell of shoe polish made his scent quite noticeable in the small office. His shoes were shined enough to reflect sharp lines of light from the overhead fluorescents.

Mycroft stood quickly, stepped away from his desk and offered a hand as the man said, “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Mr. Holmes.”

“Please,” Mycroft said with more confidence than he actually felt, “call me Mycroft.” The men exchanged a firm handshake as his visitor said, “You can call me Hue. Mind if I take a seat?”

“Of course,” he replied, waving his hand to the uncomfortable chair before his desk. He quickly took his seat as Anthea asked, “May I get either of you anything?”

“A coffee would be splendid, doll,” the visitor said, winking to Anthea. She nodded with no expression to her face. She then looked to Mycroft who said, “Coffee, as well.”

Anthea nodded once more, “I’ll be back in few minutes then.” She silently departed, closing the door gently behind him. Mycroft looked to the older man across from him and said, “How can I help you, Hue?”

Hue smiled, and it reached his eyes, making them disappear within the crow’s feet beneath his dark eyebrows that strongly contrasted his hair. He straightened his already smooth tie and said, “I can tell you’re a straightforward fellow and I like that in man.”

Mycroft said nothing, just observed all the small movements and details his visitor presented him. He noticed a flesh colored ear piece that perfectly matched his skin tone and on his rather extravagant diver’s watch, he noticed several dials that showed no function to its design. He had seen several times in the short time that he ran his hand over his tie and ran his tongue over his left incisor.

“You’ve been on my department’s radar for quite some time with that remarkable mind of yours,” Hue said, recapturing Mycroft’s attention. He stared blankly at Hue and allowed him to continue, “It’s easy to see you’re a man who’s looking to make a difference but doesn’t quite need the fame and glory that comes with it.”

Mycroft replied cautiously, “I understand you work for the CIA?”

There was a slight pause before Hue said, “Well, technically yes, but let’s just say we’re… the American Government.”

“That’s absurd, no one person or department can be the government,” Mycroft scoffed and could tell by the man’s amused expression that he was entirely mistaken. He fell silent and allowed Hue to go on. 

“We’re off the books. We answer to no one, not even the president,” Hue said. He then slipped his hand into his jacket and withdrew it with a card between his index and middle fingers. He presented it to Mycroft and said, “If you’re getting bored with being a pencil pusher and want to do something more your caliber, give me a call.”

Mycroft leaned over his desk and took the card from his offered hand. He looked at the off-white card stock and the crisp black letters with the man’s name and a set of coordinates.

“I have questions,” Mycroft said. He met Hue’s eyes and saw them crinkle again with delight, “’I’m glad you’re intrigued. We can discuss this more whenever you’re ready. I’ve already said enough in such an unsecure location.”

Before Mycroft could say anything else, his office door opened, and Anthea stepped inside, balancing a small tray with two mugs of coffee along with a jar of sugar and a pot of milk on one hand. Hue stood up and approached her. “You’re a gem,” he said, taking a mug from the tray and downing it quickly despite the temperature. He placed it back on the tray and said, “I must be off then. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Holmes.”

No response came from Mycroft as his departure had been so sudden. He looked to his secretary who didn’t seem phased by anything that had happened. She silently stepped inside, placed the other mug on Mycroft’s desk, and added milk and sugar just as she knew he liked it. 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, distractedly as he studied the plain card in his hands. So many questions were flying through his mind as he tried to piece together what exactly just happened. He took a deep breath and said to Anthea as she was stepping out of his office. “I think I’ll be working late tonight. Why don’t you go home early? I’ll make sure you get your full pay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Have a good night,” she said before closing the door to leave him to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating. The holidays have been pretty crazy. I hope you like this chapter. I wanted to show some weaknesses in Mycroft as he's still young. It seemed rather dull to have him be the Ice Man so early on in his life. Let me know what you think!


	4. Cancer

It was the sixteenth of July and the summer heat had its grip on the town of Sherrinford. It was aiming to be the hottest summer ever recorded for the area. The community pool would fill so quickly that children had no room to even splash the dissatisfying warm water. Many families opted to escape to crowded beachside towns. The Holmes family was not one of them and instead tried their best to carry on despite the suffocating heat and humidity. 

Siger Holmes sat in the kitchen, wearing a sweat drenched wifebeater and a pair of plaid shorts, with the standing fan he had pulled down from the attic in pieces along the table. It had refused to work, and he was determined to find out why. He had taken the day off work so that he could join his family in the living room to watch the launch of Apollo 11. He didn’t quite understand how they kept sending men up into space, but he was fascinated all the same. He couldn’t believe men were going to step on the moon. 

Violet moved sluggishly through the humidity as she sliced lemons for the lemonade she was making to cool everyone down. She wore a dress as she normally did most days but could not amuse the idea of wearing pantyhose or even her petticoat. She would grab the morning paper to fan herself but found little relief.

Sherlock had been roused out of bed by his parents as the sun rose to mow the lawn before the brutal sun made it impossible. Despite his discomfort in bearing his skin, he had taken off his shirt and tackled the lawn in nothing but the shorts he used to wear for boxing during gym class in school. When Molly had arrived on her bicycle, she couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised. She had arrived in a pair of brown shorts and a pale pink sleeveless top. Sherlock smiled when he saw her rest her bike down, enjoying the view of the freckled skin of her shoulders he didn’t get to see often. The pair quietly blushed but said nothing when they went inside.

While Molly said her hellos to his parents, Sherlock went upstairs to take a cold shower for more than one reason. He had palmed his erection under the frigid water until he regained control of his senses. When he returned downstairs, he found her sitting in the living room waving at herself with a folding paper fan with painted cherry blossoms. He had seen her keep it in the back pocket of her shorts. She told him once that her brother had sent it to her from Vietnam. The package it came in had arrived weeks after his body had so it was a possession that she held dear. 

Sherlock sat beside Molly but did not put an arm around her. It was just too hot to want to be in contact with another human being. She smiled at him and said, “They’re doing their final system checks. The astronauts are already in the rocket.” He simply nodded and looked to the tv. It was hard to make out what was happening on the small screen. He didn’t care all too much, but he knew Molly was excited. 

Molly loved everything to do with the space program. She would borrow Violet’s copies of Time magazine as they had exclusive access to the space program and the astronauts. When an autobiography was released for each astronaut, she was first on the list to check out the books in the library. Whenever there was a launch, she always tried to watch them. Before she started dating Sherlock, she used to ride her bike into the center of town and watch the launches from the shopfront of the electronics store when she could. Sometimes the launches were at inopportune times, so she’d rush out to the driveway in the morning to read the paper before rearranging it back together for her father.

Unfortunately, Molly’s parents were not enthusiastic about the space program. They considered it an insult to God and did not approve of Molly’s interest in it. She kept her hobby well hidden from them. Sherlock knew how much it meant to her. While he didn’t feign interest in it, he still supported it. He had been the one to invite her over to watch the launches at his house. She would read the books and magazines with him while he fiddled with experiments or did some reading of his own. Occasionally, she would read aloud a fact or story she found interesting. Sometimes, the stories even made him laugh. 

Sherlock had asked Molly why she didn’t want to go to college for something related to the space industry, such as engineering or physics. She had considered the career path but had confessed that she was turned off by the domination of males in the field. She would be outnumbered even in the medical field, but women were further along there than in engineering. He didn’t argue with her because he knew she would be happy in either field and equally as successful. It was her choice and her choice alone. He would support her no matter what. 

Lift off was only a few minutes away and Siger decided to give up on the fan. His wife followed him into the living room with the tray of lemonade and a plate of cookies. They watched the television as they were showed the people observing near the launch site in Cape Canaveral, Florida. Thousands of people of all ages with telescopes and binoculars were gathered to watch brave men venture further from earth than anyone thought possible. Molly wished to be there amongst them. 

When the rocket finally lifted off, Molly grabbed Sherlock’s hand and held it desperately. He eyed his mother doing the same to his father. Molly held her breath for so long that he was certain she was going to faint, but she never did. She relaxed as each stage of the launch was deemed successful and within twelve minutes it was announced that the astronauts had safely entered into Earth’s orbit. It would be nearly an hour before they began their trajectory toward the moon. 

The family managed to break away from the television once the excitement had passed. Violet laughed to herself, “What a rush but I better start getting some cleaning done.”

“I need to finish fiddling with that damn fan,” Siger huffed, downing his drink before heading to the kitchen.

Sherlock’s parents left them alone. The room was filled with mindless chatter from the news correspondents discussing the launch that they had just witnessed. Sherlock looked to Molly and asked, “What would you like to do today?”

There were no cases to solve or missing pets to find. It seemed that the heat had abated crime in its entirety. It was a bit of a let down as he was getting close to being able to purchase the ring he intended for Molly. Just last week, Molly had spent an evening out with her parents. He had used the opportunity to go downtown to Angelo’s Jewelry Store. The owner of the store was one of Sherlock’s first clients from the start of summer. He had managed to prove the man’s innocence when he had been robbed and accused of staging the theft to collect insurance money. He found that the man’s nephew had been the one to steal the valuable jewelry. He had intended to sell the stolen items in order to purchase a fake Canadian passport to escape the draft. The man promised him a hearty discount in his store and put the ring he had settled on behind the counter so that no one could purchase it before him.

“It’s too hot to do much of anything,” Molly said, shrugging. She paused for a moment and then looked to Sherlock with her big brown eyes and said, “But I do have some news for you. I wanted to tell you first.”

Sherlock smiled as her face bloomed red from the heat and shyness. He squeezed her hand for reassurance and said, “I hope it’s good news.”

There was another pause before Molly quickly blurted out, “I’ve been accepted into Harvard!”

Heat be damned, Sherlock took Molly into his arms and stood up. Her feet easily left the ground as he held her against his chest and spun her around, “I knew you would, you’re positively brilliant!” She laughed and clung to his shirt with a tight grip until he set her down on her feet. They were both sweating heavily but ignored it as Sherlock pressed his lips firmly on hers. 

“Distance,” Violet sang as she stepped into the room with a duster. She waved it between the two, causing them to step apart. They were both red with embarrassment and excitement as his mother asked, “What’s the sudden hullaballoo about?”

Sherlock couldn’t contain his excitement, “Molly received early acceptance into Harvard!”

“Molly!” Violet exclaimed, dropping her duster and placing a hand on her chest, “That’s wonderful news!” She pushed Sherlock aside and pulled Molly into a hug. She laughed as Violet rocked her side to side in their embrace and said, “You two will be high school sweethearts AND college sweethearts!”

When Violet finally pulled away, she asked, “What are you going to be studying?” Molly beamed proudly, “Biology for my undergraduate studies and then I’ll need to reapply for the medicine program.”

“You’re going to be a doctor?” Violet asked with shock and awe. Molly nodded but said nothing. Violet pulled her into another hug and said, “That’s just wonderful, dear! I’ll make you a cake to celebrate this weekend.”

Molly laughed, “You don’t need to fuss.”

Violet wouldn’t hear of it but finally let her go as Sherlock pulled her back. He teased his mother, “I think you’ve shaken Molly enough for one day.” She huffed at him with a smile and said, “I’m just so happy for you two.”

Sherlock managed to remind his mother that she was intending to clean. She picked up her duster and chased the young couple from the living room, telling them to find something to do outside despite the heat. A large smile was plastered on both their faces as they went out the back door to the freshly mowed yard. Molly inhaled the smell of the freshly cut grass and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy.”

Sherlock put his arm around her waist and spun her to him. He then pulled her down onto the grass and collapsed beside her and said, “I’m going to find ways to make you happier every day.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Molly giggled, turning on her side to look at him, “just being with you makes me so happy.”

They lay in the shade offered by the house, picking up grass blades and trying to make music with them. They did their best to ignore the heat of the rising sun but when it shone directly overhead, they knew they needed to find something else to do or somewhere else to do nothing. They debated their options when the backdoor opened and Siger called out, “Molly, your mother is on the phone!”

Sherlock helped Molly to her feet and they went back inside. Siger led them to the kitchen where Violet held the beige plastic phone in her hand. She held the phone out to Molly before heading out of the kitchen. She grabbed Sherlock’s arm and dragged him out of the kitchen without a word. Siger followed after them as they made their way into the living room. 

Violet shushed Sherlock before he could ask any questions. Everything had just happened so quickly and continued to do so as Molly stepped into the hallway. Her face was pale and worried. She couldn’t bring herself to walk toward the living room. She simply said, “Could I possibly bother someone for a ride home?”

Sherlock pulled away from his parents and approached her in a few broad steps. He pulled her against his chest and asked quietly, “What’s going on?”

Molly replied loud enough for his parents to hear, “My father collapsed at work. He’s in the hospital but they are leaving shortly. My mother said she wants me home by the time they get back.” She couldn’t imagine riding her bicycle back home. Her limbs felt numb and there was no way she’d be able to focus. 

“Of course,” Siger replied warmly, “let me change my shirt and I’ll take you home.” Molly looked into Sherlock’s chest and nodded. He could see she was in shock and said nothing more as he brushed past them in the hallway to go upstairs. 

Violet stood behind Sherlock, “Is there anything I can do for you, Molly?” She sounded uncertain but willing to do anything to comfort the young woman she considered like a daughter. Molly shook her head, “No, but thank you.”

Sherlock followed Molly outside when his father was ready to go. Siger had instructed him to grab Molly’s bike, and they wedged in the trunk of his brown Buick Skylark. The trunk could not close fully, but the drive was short and relatively slow, so they didn’t worry. 

Molly was helped into the front seat by Sherlock. He ensured she was settled comfortably before closing the heavy door for her. He quickly climbed into the backseat as his father turned the key, bringing the large engine to life. He sat in the middle of the back seat, so he could see as much of Molly’s face as possible. He wished he could reach out to her. His father wasn’t as concerned about appearances or public displays of affection as his mother was, but he often found it hard to show affection to his girlfriend in the presence of others, especially his parents. When Violet had separated their embrace earlier, he had been so caught up in Molly’s accomplishment that he had forgotten his parents were home. 

The drive to the Hooper residence was quick and quiet. When they arrived, Sherlock quickly got out of the car and opened the door for Molly. He offered his hand and helped her out. She quietly watched as Siger held the trunk open so that Sherlock could remove her bicycle. He set it on its wheels and silently walked it up to the house alongside his nervous girlfriend. His father, always observant when it came to human behavior but little else, in Sherlock’s opinion, got back in the car and gave the young pair privacy.

Sherlock set the bike against one of the beams holding up the front porch of her house. When he looked at Molly, she was wide-eyed and clearly terrified. The perspiration on her brow could have been from the heat of the day or the stress apparent in her entire body.

“Would you like me to stay until your parents arrive?” Sherlock asked, reaching out to wrap his hands around her arms before sliding them down to her hands. She hummed at the comfort of his touch before saying apologetically, “I think my parents will want privacy when they get home.” She didn’t even consider the fact that her parents would most likely be furious that she was home alone with her boyfriend. She imagined with whatever was happening with her father, that it wouldn’t be the most troubling thing. She didn’t want to add to the situation.

Sherlock nodded, “If you need me for anything, call my house and I’ll run here if I have to.”

“I know I can always count on you, Sherlock.”

He knew his father was watching them from the car but his concern for Molly overpowered him. He leaned down and paused just a moment before he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, offering her a moment to consent. He could see in her eyes that he was permitted. They both briefly closed their eyes as Molly pulled her left hand from Sherlock’s and touched his cheek gently. They parted, and Sherlock took a step back.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you, Molly,” he replied, kissing the hand he still held. She attempted a smile to ensure she’d be ok. He tried to return one back but failed. She took a deep breath and pulled away. They could think of nothing more to say with the little privacy and time they had. She turned away from Sherlock and went up her porch stairs, pulling her house key from her pocket. He waited until she was inside and heard the door lock before rejoining his father in the car.

Sherlock sat in the front seat and intended to say nothing. As Siger pulled out of the driveway he asked, “Is she going to be ok?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly with the words he didn’t say often. His father was surprised to hear it at well, “She’s a resilient girl and I bet Jim will be right as rain in no time. I wouldn’t be surprised if the summer heat got to him.”

Silence took over for several moments before Siger asked, “So, Molly also got accepted to Harvard?” His son nodded in response. He smiled, “She’s a clever one and I have to say she’s been good for you, son.”

Sherlock’s cheeks started to glow red as his father continued, “Before she came along, your mother and I worried what kind of man you’d become. Of course, we knew you were destined for greatness, just like Mycroft.”

Sherlock grunted.

“Since you two started dating, you’ve become calmer. You’re gentler with Molly than we’ve ever seen you with anyone or anything. Our minds are much more at ease.”

Sherlock looked to his father, he looked eager to speak but didn’t know if he should say what was on his mind. Siger seemed to notice from the corner of his eye and asked, “Everything is ok with you and her, right?”

“I want to ask Molly to marry me,” Sherlock blurted out. Siger had just halted at a stop sign rougher than he intended and looked to his son with a look of absolute surprise on his face. It took a moment before he grinned and said, “That’s absolutely wonderful, Sherlock. I’m sure once you two graduate from Harvard we can plan a wonderful wedding.”

Siger started driving once the intersection was clear when Sherlock added, “I’m not going to Harvard.”

The car stopped suddenly once more, and Sherlock had to throw his arm onto the dashboard to avoid hitting it with his face. The car moved again but only to move to the side of the road. Thankfully, no had been behind them during this evasive action. Siger set the car in park and gripped the steering wheel firmly. He took several deep breaths before turning his body to face his son. 

Sherlock was expecting anger but saw only fear and concern. He instantly regretted mentioning anything but he had always felt that if he was going to be honest with anyone in his family, it was his father that he could trust the most to be understanding. He stared at his father with no expression though he reached up to wipe sweat that was trickling down the side of his head.

“What do you mean you’re not going to Harvard?” Siger finally asked.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then replied, “My detective work is proving to be profitable. I see no need for further education.”

“Have you officially rejected your admission to Harvard?”

“No,” Sherlock answered, “but I int-”

“Good,” Siger said, quickly cutting his son off. He was normally a patient man and never overstepped on anyone, but Sherlock could see he had struck a nerve in his father that he didn’t think was possible. 

He continued, “I don’t want to hear another word about this. You will be going to Har-”

“But dad, I don’t…”

“YOU WILL GO TO HARVARD!” Siger shouted, his face redder than it had been all day as the heat and sudden emotion caused him to boil over. He was beyond control, spit spraying from his mouth, “I REFUSE TO BURY MY SON LIKE JIM AND SARAH HOOPER!”

When Mycroft had expressed concern for Sherlock’s chances of being drafted, he had scoffed at the idea but felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as his father raised his voice.

Siger was taking heavy breaths, grinding his fists on the steering wheel in attempts to calm down. After a few moments, he said through gritted teeth, “If you won’t do it for me, do it for Molly.” 

It felt like Sherlock had just been hit heavily in the gut, worse than the month prior at the community pool. He was so sure he wouldn’t be drafted but he had not considered that if he were drafted, it would destroy Molly.

Siger was finally able to calm down enough that he loosened his grip on the steering wheel and asked, “Have you asked Jim for permission?” The question confused Sherlock and the bewildered expression on his face spoke in volumes. His father sighed, “Molly will never marry you unless you get her father’s permission. If he finds out you’re not going to Harvard, he’ll never give you his blessing.”

Sherlock frowned, thinking the expectation to get permission from Molly’s father for something that should be her own decision was barbaric. His father knew him well enough to know that was his protest and quickly added, “Molly will never go against her father’s wishes. We might not be a religious family but the Hoopers are. You need to respect their traditions and customs.”

The disgruntled teenager sighed heavily before saying, “If I do go to Harvard…”

He paused, not meeting his father’s eye and admitting defeat, “I want to marry Molly next summer. I can’t wait until we’ve graduated.”

“Then you’ll need to find a ring, and soon. If you wait too close until then, everyone will think she’s pregnant and you’re having a shotgun wedding. I don’t know if you two have been…”

“No!” Sherlock snapped, “I respect Molly’s decision to wait.”

Siger nodded with relief, “Good.”

“I’ve been saving money I’ve earned from my cases. I’m two hundred dollars short still,” Sherlock informed his father. He looked impressed, not realizing his son had been earning any serious amounts of money. He finally smiled and asked, “I can give you the rest if you’d like.”

Sherlock shook his head, “No, I want to do this on my own. I want to show Molly I can provide for her.”

“You see,” Siger chuckled, “she’s changed you so much.” 

The car fell silent before Siger sighed, “I just want what’s best for you, Sherlock. We all do.”

“I know,” Sherlock muttered, crossing his arms across his chest like some sort of petulant child. Siger smiled, knowing his words had made an impact on his son. He said nothing more before putting the car in drive and pulling back onto the road.

The rest of the short drive was silent. When they arrived home, Violet was sitting on the porch, fanning herself with a section of the daily paper. She looked concerned as they got out of the car. Siger moved quickly to Sherlock and before he could protest, wrapped his arms around his son and said, “I love you, Sherlock.”

It took Sherlock by complete surprise, but he awkwardly hugged his father back. He rarely hugged his parents, but he understood the conversation they just had was emotional. They separated, saying nothing before walking up to the house. Neither mentioned anything to Violet about their conversation, as they knew it would only cause her distress that she didn’t need. She wanted to ask about their embrace, as it was out of character for Sherlock, but he didn’t give her the chance.

After confirming to his mother that Molly was home safely, he went up to his room and locked the door behind him. His windows were open, letting a warm breeze circulate around the room. Papers flickered gently but stayed in place on his desk and dresser. He picked up one of his advanced chemistry books from his desk and laid on his made bed. 

Before Sherlock had decided he didn’t want to go to school, he had contacted the campus bookstore at Harvard and received the reading lists for all the students in the chemistry department. He had already finished the books required for the freshman and sophomore classes. He was finishing up the textbooks from the junior class.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to distract himself with equations and formulas. He was able to ignore the stifling humidity in his room and the sweat on his brow. He ignored his mother’s calls for dinner, which she was used to, and read well into the night. He still had several chapters left but he put the book on his nightstand when he could no longer ignore the aching of his bladder. He also knew he should drink some water to avoid dehydration in the summer heat. It was past eleven o’clock and he knew his parents were already in bed. Despite the sun being absent for several hours, the heat hardly relented. 

Sherlock quietly went down the hallway and used the bathroom he used to share with Mycroft. As he washed his hands, he looked at the empty spaces where Mycroft’s possessions had been. Somehow, Sherlock still did not allow his own toiletries to rest in the bare spots. He grunted to himself and reached out to the small shelf near the bathroom mirror and grabbed his deodorant. He placed it several inches to the left so that it stood alone on Mycroft’s half of the shelf. He smiled to himself before leaving the bathroom. 

The stairs often creaked so Sherlock tiptoed quietly down them and went to the kitchen, flicking the light on. He opened the heavy fridge door and pulled out the pitcher of water his mother kept in there so they wouldn’t have to use all the ice to have a cool drink. He poured himself a glass and drank it in one long chug. He poured a second glass before refilling the pitcher and replacing it. 

A rumbling escaped Sherlock’s stomach, causing him to frown. His body was reminding him of his missed dinner now that he stood in an opportune place to feed it. It wasn’t that he disliked food or was trying to maintain his slim figure, he just hated how time-consuming eating was. Luckily, he never had to waste time cooking, but even sitting down for family meals left his shaking his leg with impatience while his mother slowly brought out the meal. The only time he tolerated meals with his family was when Molly came over. Thankfully, he rarely had dinner at her house due to the hours her parents tended to work. His parents expected his rudeness when he dashed from the table as soon as Molly wiped her mouth with her napkin. If he acted in such a way in the Hooper household, they would think he was mortifyingly insolent. Molly understood his personality and mannerisms, but he knew her parents would not. They had come to a silent understanding that Sherlock should be kept away from her family as much as possible to avoid a negative interaction that could jeopardize their relationship.

Sherlock lifted the lid of the kitschy Irish Setter shaped cookie jar on the kitchen counter and pulled a single shortbread cookie out. The container was nearly full, something that had been uncommon when Mycroft still resided with them. He grinned to himself at the thought of his brother’s weakness for sugary treats. He replaced the lid and frowned at the ugly container. His mother had purchased it a flea market nearly a decade ago because it looked like the dog they once had. 

Sherlock fondly remembered his childhood dog, Redbeard. Mycroft had been furious when he named the small ball of red fur with the long floppy ears after Hayreddin Barbarossa of the Ottoman Empire naval fleet. He had intended to call the dog by the historical figure’s surname, but his parents had hesitated when they imagined what their neighbors might think when they yelled the Turkish name out loud. His family was open minded but anything that could be mistaken for Russian was something to be avoided if possible.

Everyday after school, Sherlock would run through the woods between houses, wearing a raggedy pirate hat that had been part of his Halloween costume in second grade. Redbeard always trotted gleefully beside him until one day when Sherlock was playing in the woods, and the dog could not keep up. His faithful companion was only six when he was suspected of having cancer. The treatment was too expensive for the family to afford for a dog. Violet held Sherlock for the first time since he was toddler when he cried at the veterinarian’s office. He had never known such heartache. She hoped for her son to never feel that way again, but she had been caught off guard when he appeared to cut himself off from all emotion except for anger. Even Sherlock had been surprised with how much he had changed and agreed with his father that Molly had a strong affect on him.

Sherlock absentmindedly chewed on his cookie when he heard a very faint knock echo from the hallway. His brows scrunched in confusion, but he did not hesitate to set his half-eaten snack on the counter and head straight for the front door. He supposed he should be more cautious about opening the door for an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night though he couldn’t imagine anyone meaning to do him harm would knock first. He undid the chain on the door and turned the lock for before placing his hand on the brass knob. He opened the door just slightly.

“Molly,” Sherlock breathed, when he cracked the door open to see who could possibly be knocking at such an hour. He threw the door open and pulled her inside and hugged her tightly to his body. It was clear she had been crying and was distraught. Her long hair was a mess and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

Quiet sobs escaped from his tiny girlfriend, but they were muffled further by shirt. She gripped onto the fabric tightly and pushed Sherlock back, attempting to get impossibly closer to him. He was unable to close the door without making noise as his back hit the bannister of the stairs. He could only hold her tightly against him until her body seemingly gave out and he felt her collapse in his arms. 

Sherlock half carried Molly into the kitchen and set her down at the kitchen table. Her head hung low with her long hair covering his face. He went back to the door and closed it quietly. He said nothing, coming back to the kitchen quickly going to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of milk and then grabbed a coffee cup from the cabinet over the sink. He poured the milk and set the mug in the microwave. The buzzing sound of the appliance was the only noise for over a minute. Sherlock pulled the door open before it could beep and then stirred the warmed milk to ensure the temperature was consistent. He went back to the cookie jar and pulled out a handful of the shortbread cookies. 

Molly lifted her head and looked at Sherlock with bloodshot eyes as he sat down the mug of warm milk and the cookies in front of her. He had not even bothered with a plate. 

“Drink,” he said, before sitting down beside her. She sniffled slightly but did as he said, taking a cautious sip. He reached out and touched her arm gently. She was still wearing the same clothes from earlier, but they were badly wrinkled. She had sweat stains from her armpits and dirt on her shorts. He was almost certain she had climbed out of her bedroom window judging by the state of her fingernails. 

The couple sat in silence for several minutes before Sherlock asked, “What happened?” She had never called him as she said she would but he did not hold it against her. 

Molly fought with herself to form the words, “My dad… it’s cancer. They haven’t told him.”

“Molly,” Sherlock said in shock, “I’m sorry.” He scooted his chair closer to her and leaned into her. He rested his forehead against the side of her head, nuzzling into her hair. He could hear her breathing as she tried to remain calm. He kissed her over her ear and said, “What do you need, Molly?”

“I…” she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Sherlock say back again but continued to stroke her arm. She sipped her milk again and stared into the mug, “The doctors told my mother he has eight months at most, but they’re refusing to tell him he’s dying.”

“What does he think is wrong?” Sherlock asked.

Molly looked at him, “They told him he has pneumonia.”

Sherlock took Molly’s hand in his and squeezed it, “I’m so sorry, Molly, I wish there was something I could do.”

He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t know if I’m more upset that he’s dying or that my mother wants to lie to him,” Molly cried as another wave of tears overtook her. Sherlock remained silent, allowing her to let her grief come out while he held her hand tightly. There was nothing he could do except comfort her to the best of his abilities.

Normally, Sherlock avoided people who cried as if they were infected with the plague. Molly’s distraught caused an aching in his chest. He felt he was only saying generic phrases of comfort. When Sherlock was incredibly upset, he would sometimes go for a run, throwing himself as hard and fast down the road as he could. He would run until his ribs ached and his lungs screamed. He couldn’t imagine that helping Molly. 

The pair remained in the kitchen for several hours until the sun began to rise. When the light fell on the table through the blinds, Sherlock said, “Go sleep in my room. I’m going to take the couch and I’ll explain everything to my parents.”

“I should get home,” Molly said wearily. She pushed the chair back and stood. Her back ached from sitting so long on the hard, wooden chair but she ignored it. Sherlock stood as well but ignored her. He led her by her hand out of the kitchen, leaving the milk and cookies nearly untouched, and brought her upstairs. She did not protest as he closed his blinds so that the sun would not bother her and laid her down on the bed. He wanted to join her, but he knew it could not be. He kissed her forehead and simply said, “Sleep.”

Molly nodded, turning on her side so that he back faced him. She clutched at his pillow and held it tightly as Sherlock bent down and pulled at the shoes still on her feet. He didn’t mind the dirt on his comforter. He set them down beside the bed before he went to the door. He looked back at her before leaving the room and said aloud, “I love you, Molly.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she muttered. He could hear she was already crying once more. It pained him to close the door. He stood in the hallway, staring at the door, wondering what he could possibly do. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since they were laying in the grass. He had promised to make her happier every day. He was already failing. 

Sherlock sighed heavily as he stepped over to the door of his parent’s bedroom. He knocked lightly but it was all that was needed to stir his mother. She had always been a light sleeper and it was because of her that Sherlock had learned to move so quietly in the middle of the night. He was not disappointed when she opened the door in her pastel pink nightdress that fell past her knees. Her greying blonde hair was a mess and she looked terrified to see her son waking her up at such an early hour.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?” Violet demanded more than asked. Her pale blue eyes looked him over to ensure he was in one piece and that there was no sign of blood or other bodily damage.

Sherlock held his hands up in defense, “Nothing's wrong. Everyone is ok.”

“Then why on earth are you waking me up so early? You know your father has to be up in an hour and he needs all the sleep he can get,” Violet quietly scolded him. He frowned and replied, “Molly’s here and she’s sleeping in my bed.”

The confession surprised Violet and any sleep in her voice or showing in her face quickly departed. She questioned him, “What do you mean she’s in your bed?”

“She was upset about her father and came here. I told her to sleep in my room and I’m going to go sleep on the couch. I wanted to be honest with you so that you wouldn’t be surprised,” he explained.

His mother looked conflicted. He could see her internally debating if she could call the Hoopers. She looked him in the eyes and could see that was the last thing he wanted her to do. She had clearly come here, considering their home to be a safe space, and didn’t want her parents to know. She was also amazed that Sherlock was making her a confidant. She sighed and nodded, “Thank you for telling me, Sherlock. Why don’t you sleep in Mycroft’s room so your father doesn’t wake you up when he gets up for work.”

Sherlock simply nodded but before he could turn away, Violet added, “And you best stay out of that room if you know what’s good for you.” He gave her a weak smile before saying, “Thank you, mom.”

“I love you, Sherlock,” she said as he retreated down the hallway toward Mycroft’s old room. He put his hand on the doorknob for looking over his shoulder and said, “I love you too.”

He didn’t need to see that tears were in her eyes as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing some research for this story and found it rather disturbing that even in the 60s, it was common for doctors to not tell people they had cancer or that they were terminal. Because the treatments for cancer were normally unsuccessful, they believed it was unnecessary to burden their patients with the fact that they didn't have long. 
> 
> I feel terrible doing this to Molly but I wanted to show that even at 17, she can deal with death without drowning in it and that she's really more upset about lying to her father. 
> 
> Anyways, please let me know what you think and if you like my story, please drop a kudos off.
> 
> Thanks <3


	5. Temptations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Underage consensual stuff... not quite sex.

Molly woke up early the following Sunday, staring miserably at the popcorn ceiling over her bed. She had not slept a wink despite being utterly exhausted when she laid down at nearly midnight. Her father had tried to be forgiving, but Sarah Hooper would not allow Molly’s actions to go unpunished. She knew she had done wrong but that was not what bothered her. 

Violet had called Molly’s mother the morning after she had run to their house in the middle of the night. She calmly explained to them that Molly was safe, but upset, and had spent the night, but in a separate room than Sherlock. She reassured her that she would bring Molly home as soon as she was awake. Sarah had not even realized that her daughter was not home by the time Violet had called but it did not stop her fury from coming out in full force. She was polite enough to Violet for informing her of her daughter’s whereabouts but declined her offer to bring Molly home. She ensured her husband could make do without her for a short while and drove to the Holmes residence, barely slowing down at stop signs unless she saw a pedestrian or another car.

“MARY MAGDALENE HOOPER!” Sarah Hooper bellowed her full name when she was admitted into the house by Violet. It only took a few moments before Molly appeared at the top of the stairs wearing the same clothes that she had arrived in. She quietly descended the stairs and was grabbed strongly by her arm and pulled from the house before Sherlock could even appear at the top of the stairs. 

Molly had not been allowed to see Sherlock or leave the house since then. The isolation drove her mad as she heard her father’s coughs all day and night. He had been given a heavy course of antibiotics and steroids, as well as several different inhalers. The coughing was slowly getting better, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it would get worse again and it would be a further slide downhill. Her father anticipated going to work the next day and while the family needed his income desperately, she wasn’t so sure he had it in him.

It was just past seven when there was a knock on the door, “Molly, get ready for church.”

There was nothing she wanted to say to her mother, so she quietly pulled herself from her bed and shuffled into her bathroom. She glared miserably at herself in the mirror over her sink. Her hair was greasy as she found no reason to wash it over the weekend and the bags under her eyes aged her. She didn’t look like the happy and chipper teenager she normally was. She was beyond the point of caring.

Molly found herself despondent as she showered and then dressed in her Sunday’s best and tied her hair in a high ponytail with a grey ribbon finished in a bow. Normally, she would sneak a little blush and a smudge of lipstick on despite her mother’s objections to wearing makeup at her age. She was not in the mood to play with the makeup in her vanity. She met her mother by the front door when it was time to leave. It did not need saying that her father would be staying home.

Once Molly was in the front seat beside her mother, she wanted to scream at her. She wanted to call her mother a liar. Her father could be seeking actual treatment but keeping the secret of his health from him was an absolute death sentence. She never thought she could say it out loud by she knew deep down that she hated her mother. This one act had cancelled out seventeen years of love and gratitude.

“Try not to look so sullen at church or people will talk,” Sarah said sharply after she pulled away from their driveway. Molly glared at her, “Tell me, how should I look?”

“Like someone who can survive a week without seeing their boyfriend,” her mother shot back, rolling her eyes as if she were the moody teenager. Molly scoffed, “You think I’m mad because I can’t see Sherlock?”

Sarah glanced at her, “What else would have you being so dramatic?”

“How about the fact that my father is dying, and you refuse to tell him!” Molly shouted. Before she could get another word out, her mother’s right hand let go of the steering wheel and connected with her face. The slap seemed to echo in the confined space of the aging 1958 Chevrolet Yeoman.

Tears threatened to fall from Molly’s eyes, but she refused to give her normally non-violent mother the satisfaction that her discipline might have actually worked. The resentment she felt inside began to grow exponentially. Her mother put her hand back on the wheel and said calmly, “I expect you to confess to Father O’Brian after mass. Remember, Molly, honor thy father and mother.”

Molly said nothing, though she rubbed her cheek until they arrived at the church across the street from her school. Sarah grabbed Molly’s arm before she could even put her hand on the door to open it, “Don’t you dare say a word about your father to anyone. The people he works with come to church here and if they hear one word of his condition, they are going to fire him, and we’ll lose any chance of getting his pension.”

All Molly could do was nod before pulling her arm away from her mother’s tight grip. She got out of the car as calmly as she could and approached the gathering of people outside the church. They arrived fifteen minutes early as they normally did so that her mother could socialize. Molly would often talk to a girl her own age that attended the public school on the other side of town. Her name was Meena and she often gushed about the boys in her school and always expressed envy that Molly had a boyfriend. She had once asked if Sherlock had a cute brother or friend that he could set her up with. When Molly explained that Sherlock’s brother, though handsome, was seven years older, she quickly rejected that idea. Sherlock didn’t have any friends so that plan was also forgotten. 

Meena had mentioned something about going on vacation with her family though Molly forgot when she said she was going. There was no sign of her or her parents, so she figured they had already left for California, which relieved Molly a bit as she wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone. 

The older members of the church were already heading inside to get the seats up front, so Molly slipped in amongst them but slipped into a pew at the very back. She sat quietly with her hands folded on her lap and looked around at the ornate church with its stained-glass windows depicting a multitude of saints and the gilded frames displaying somber paintings from the stations of the cross. She stared for several moments at image of Jesus on his knees, his crossing nearly pinning him to the earth with Veronica holding her veil that she had wiped his face with and his likeness was depicted on it.

The painting brought to mind the handkerchief tucked away in her room, smeared with grease, that had been given to her by Mycroft. She had no reason to keep it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. She thought it odd to have more than a fleeting thought to the soiled fabric. Mycroft was Sherlock’s brother and though they didn’t get along, Molly was envious that they still had each other. Perhaps she considered Mycroft like a surrogate brother? If Sherlock actually meant what he said about marrying her, Mycroft would be her brother-in-law. She couldn’t imagine Sherlock allowing her to have the type of relationship she had with Daniel with him nor did she think Mycroft would even care to be bothered to acknowledge her. Still, she felt there was some connection to the older Holmes brother. She felt like their interactions were vastly different than the ones she had with Sherlock, like they had some secret understanding. Of course, they had Sherlock in common and without him, Mycroft would never have known she existed. She was quite certain their connection was their best interests for Sherlock. 

Before she could think further about it, she was brought back to her senses when she felt, more than saw, someone sit beside her. She blushed heavily, the red spreading down her neck and blooming across the skin under her clothes when she saw it was her own Holmes. 

“Sherlock,” Molly breathed, not quite believing that he had willingly entered church and was dressed accordingly. She had only ever seen him in church at weekly mass during the school year as attendance was compulsory. They never sat together because of their difference in class years but even before they were acquainted with one another, she would eye him sitting alone in the middle of the pews during communion. He was the only student in the school who had not received the sacrament of Holy Communion.

Molly glanced down at Sherlock’s hand and noticed that it was flexing as if to take hers within his own. They knew they couldn’t display affection, especially since they were not married or even engaged. She looked back to his face and their eyes met. Molly wanted to throw her arms around Sherlock’s neck and pull him against her. It had only been a few days, but she missed him terribly. They were not the most affectionate people, but the separation was enough to make her appreciate every touch and kiss they had ever shared. 

“You’ve been hit,” Sherlock said, just barely audible. She felt his clear blue eyes studying her face, taking in her features as if it were the first and last time he might ever see her. Her blush seemed to intensify, further emphasizing the red mark on her face. Molly bit her lip and lowered her gaze in shame, but Sherlock was quick to shoot down the feelings welling up inside her.

“Was it your father?” Sherlock asked, his voice raising ever so slightly. She shook her head and could feel Sherlock’s breath on her as he huffed and puffed several times. He muttered, “No one, not even your mother, should ever lay a hand on you.”

“I was being disrespectful,” Molly tried to tell him. He shook his head, “I don’t care.”

Molly sighed and looked up to meet his eyes once more, “I’m just happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“Killing two birds with one stone,” he replied with a weak smile, though his eyes kept darting to the mark on her face. Her eyebrows met in confusion, “Two birds?”

Sherlock leaned in and lowered his voice as several people walked past them, “I’m here to talk to Father O’Brian about becoming a member of the church and I wanted to see you.”

“What?” Molly said, her red face suddenly going white. Was this really her Sherlock? He had said too many times for her to count that he did not believe in God or any religion. He had always been respectful of her faith, but he had never showed any signs of joining the church. His smile grew slightly, “I want our marriage to be recognized in the church, for you. For that to happen, I’ll have to be baptized.”

Molly could not believe what she was hearing. Her heart soared every time Sherlock had mentioned marriage to her and while she hoped and prayed it would happen, she sometimes wondered if he really meant what he said. His presence beside her in the church was clearly a sign from God that he intended to follow through with his intentions. Her face was red once more.

Before the couple could say anything else, a voice spoke behind them that nearly stopped Molly’s heart, “What are you doing here, Sherlock?”

They turned their heads in unison to glance behind them and looked up at Sarah Hooper. She looked very displeased by Sherlock’s unusual attendance. Molly tried to find the words to say but Sherlock was first, “I’m here for mass. I have an appointment with Father O’Brian afterwards to discuss my baptism.”

A sour look overtook Sarah’s features. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by another patron, “Sarah, you’re looking well. How’s everything going?”

“Everything is just wonderful,” Sarah said with a sweet voice as if everything really was fine and she wasn’t about to tear into Sherlock. The older woman before Sarah looked down and smiled at Sherlock and Molly, “Is that your daughter? She’s so grown up!”

“Almost too grown up.”

“That’s how it works,” she chuckled but then looked at the trio before her. She could feel the tension but did not address it. She forced a smile and said, “Well, don’t let me keep you.” She put a gloved hand on Sarah’s arm in a polite touch and limped away with her cane without another word.

Understanding and remembering where they were, Sarah looked at the two and said, “I’ll have words with you after mass.”

As soon as her mother was out of earshot, Molly groaned, “She’s going to kill me.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Sherlock said, watching Sarah as she joined a group of women in a pew near the front. He looked to Molly and said, “We might not be married yet but consider the vow already made that I will protect you.”

Molly noted the serious look in his eyes and mouthed, “Thank you.” Before they could say anything else, the sound of the organ overwhelmed the church, and everyone fell silent. 

Mass was wholly uneventful aside from the few times that Sherlock snuck his hand to Molly’s and held it within his own when they kneeled in prayer. Everyone’s heads were down so they took those moments to connect. Each moment that passed was matched with a heavy thud in her chest when she gripped Sherlock’s hand tightly. She smiled brightly when she went up for communion and caught him staring in awe as she walked down the center aisle to come back to him. 

When it was over, Molly advised Sherlock, “My mom wants me to confess to Father O’Brian before I go home.” He rolled his eyes, “What for?” Mimicking her mother, she replied, “Honor thy father and mother.” He huffed in annoyance but said nothing. They stood up and together walked to the entrance of the church where the portly priest was shaking hands with everyone as they left. The sun was shining in from outside, blinding everyone as they step out of the dark church. 

When Father O’Brian caught glimpse of the couple, he nodded a polite apology to the people departing and approached them. He ushered them toward the corner that they had been sitting and said, “Molly, your mother indicated to me earlier that you wanted to confess?”

“Yes, father,” Molly said. He smiled kindly at her and said, “And Mr. Holmes, we have an appointment. Would you mind terribly if I saw to Molly’s soul first?”

“Of course, ladies first,” Sherlock said with a cheerful disposition that made Molly want to laugh. She was positive that he wanted to desperately roll his eyes. He was clearly laying it on thick but knew better than to expose him. She smiled and said, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

Against the back wall were two wooden doors. Father O’Brian waved at the door closest to Molly. She needed no further instruction, entering the small cubicle that she had become very familiar with. During the school year, they were required to confess monthly. Molly had never felt she had anything to confess so she’d make up things such as not cleaning her room or taking the lord’s name in vain. She was always told to say her prayers a few times and sent on her way. Despite her beliefs, confession was one of the things she despised. After every sin she confessed, she could see the priest’s face through the screen between them, nodding and smiling as if she were telling him something racy. She prayed daily and felt that reflection with God should be enough. No mere man could wash her sins away. 

Molly began, blessing herself, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” Father O’Brian said for the both of them.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession,” Molly continued. She sighed deeply as the priest said, “Confess the sins you carry within you, child. Start with the ones that are plaguing you most.”

Molly glanced at the screen, seeing the older man wiping at his brow with his sleeve. The screen did very little to hide each other. She took a deep breath, “Father, I have come to confess a sin against the commandments. I have not honored my mother and ask for forgiveness.”

She expected that to be the end of her confession, but Father O’Brian asked, “Please, explain your sin further.” A frown grew on Molly’s face, but she opened her mouth and the words seemed to pour from her, “Father O’Brian, my father is ill. He’s not expected to live much longer. My mother feels it best to lie to him and tell him he’s fine when he isn’t. I believe the sin lies in my mother for lying to her husband. She believes my sin is not showing her respect for her decision.”

“Molly,” the priest said warily, “you need to truly believe you have sinned and that forgiveness is needed. If you think you haven’t sinned, God will not be able to wash away your sin.” 

Molly looked at the screen, “Then who’s the sinner, Father?”

“That’s not for me to decide,” he replied. She frowned further, “Then what should I do?”

The priest sighed heavily, “Pray.”

That was not the answer Molly wanted or needed, but she simply said, “Thank you, Father.”

Molly stood and made to leave the cubicle. She paused as Father O’Brian added, “I’m sorry for your troubles and it’s clear the stress of your father’s illness is taking a toll on your family. I will pray for you and your parents, but I think it would be best you come to some form of reconciliation with your mother. Once you have done that, if you truly feel you have dishonored her, I will give you proper penance.” She nodded and repeated, “Thank you, Father.”

It took a few moments for Molly’s eyes to adjust once she stepped out of the dark box. Sherlock was leaning against the back of the pew, studying her intently as she closed the door behind her. She gave him a half-hearted smile before Father O’Brian stepped out of his side of the confession box. He ran his hands over his black shirt before looking to Sherlock and said, “Now then, Mr. Holmes, follow me to my office.”

Sherlock looked to Molly and said, “I’ll try to call you later.” She nodded and watched as Sherlock obeyed the priest. He walked alongside him, head bowed down to look at the shorter man. She could faintly hear his deep voice, but it faded as they walked to the alter. Behind the alter was a door. Father O’Brian opened it and ushered Sherlock inside.

“Are you done?”

Molly nearly jumped when she heard the displeased voice come from behind her. She turned to face her mother and nodded again. Her mother looked her over before sighing, “Molly, I don’t want to be at odds with you, but I need you to understand the lesson that I’m teaching you.”

Molly wasn’t so sure her mother knew what she was punishing her for anymore. She understood sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night was wrong and dangerous. She had listened to her mother rant about all the things that could have happened to her. It was when she started accusing Sherlock for her behavior that Molly felt the situation was getting out of hand. 

Sarah had always expressed fondness for Sherlock. She had admitted she found him peculiar, but she had never spoken ill of him in the entire time they had been dating. It deeply upset Molly when during that anger fueled morning, her mother had said Sherlock was tempting her to act out. She had even accused Molly of having sex with him. She actually raised her voice at her mother, telling her that she was proudly a virgin and waiting until marriage. Her outburst had silenced her mother on that topic. 

Molly understood it was a stressful time and with the extra hours her mother was now working, she only expected things to get worse. The stress was bringing out a side of her mother she had never seen. It was like she was a different person. Molly prayed at night for her old mother to come back.

“I understand,” she replied plainly. She met her mother’s eye with little expression and said, “I’m ready to go home.”

The drive was silent, and Molly sat pressed against her door, keeping out of reach of her mother. She had been tempted to sit in the backseat but decided against it. When they arrived home, the noise of their arrival had stirred her father from a nap on the couch. He coughed and hacked for several minutes before he was able to clear his lungs enough to say hello.

“How are you feeling, daddy?” Molly asked, kissing her father on the top of the head before pulling off her white heels. She was glad to finally get them off and that she only ever wore them on Sundays. She hated the extra height as it made her feel nervous and unbalanced. She flexed her toes in the ugly brown carpet with relief. 

Jim shrugged, “I’m still alive.” He chuckled at his little joke, but Molly’s stomach dropped. Thankfully, her mother was not around to hear it. She had gone straight upstairs to change into something more casual, so she could start preparing their dinner for the evening before she had to leave for the night shift.

Molly sat on the couch beside her father and wrapped her arm around his. She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “I love you, daddy.”

“I love you too, pumpkin,” he said cautiously, “but what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Molly said, squeezing his arm and inhaling his sent. He smelled of Old Spice and mint from his toothpaste as he normally did, but a lingering bitterness seemed to hang in the air. It was the smell of the medications he took.

A few minutes passed with the only noise being a rerun of _The Doctors_ , a daytime soap opera that her father joked was his guilty pleasure. They watched the drama unfold for several minutes before Jim shook his arm to get Molly’s attention. She lifted her head and looked at him.

“How do feel about staying up with your old man tonight and watching that moon landing everyone keeps talking about?” He asked with a sly grin and a hushed voice. Her solemn face spread into a smile, “Are you serious?”

Jim let out a laugh that turned into a series of hacks. Molly paled with worry as she rubbed his back, trying her best to calm him. Tears fell from his eyes as his face reddened. He appeared to grab for something that just wasn’t there, like he was reaching out to break the surface of the water after a deep dive. When he finally calmed down and his coughing became wheezes, he forced a smile for Molly’s benefits and said, “That definitely cleared the old pipes.”

Molly couldn’t help but let the worry grow on her face. He nudged her arm away and leaned back into the couch and said, “Once your mom heads to work, why don’t you invite Sherlock to watch with us? It’ll be our secret.” She perked at the mention of Sherlock’s name and wanted nothing more than to tackle her father with a big hug. A blushing smile spread across her face, causing her father to chuckle that only sounded like more wheezing, “I knew that’d cheer you up.”

“You don’t normally like Sherlock,” Molly accused, though her smile was still present. He gave her a knowing look and said, “It’d do me well to get to know the boy my daughter spends so much time with.”

“I think if you just gave him a chance, you’d see how remarkable he is,” Molly spoke with fondness in her words. He smiled back at her and said, “I’ve accepted he’s taking my place, you don’t need to sell him to me.” Molly nudged her father gently with her elbow, “No one can ever replace you.”

The room fell silent after a few moments when Sarah Hooper descended the stairs. She wore a grey skirt that fell between her ankles and knees and a white buttoned up blouse with short sleeves. The top buttons were undone in attempt to cool down though it was no use. She looked to her family and said, “Dinner will be ready at five and then I need to get to the nursing home for work. Molly, come help me.”

Jim Hooper gave a supportive nod to Molly when her eyes met his. She said nothing and followed her mother into the kitchen. She followed her mother’s lead and grabbed one of the aprons hanging by the pantry in the small kitchen. She still wore her church dress but neither of them said anything. 

The afternoon went by excruciatingly slow for Molly. The only words spoken were from her mother when she told Molly what to do. She peeled potatoes, cut carrots, and sniffled over onions. Her mother prepared a modest chicken to roast in the oven with the vegetables. The last thing that Molly was ordered to do was to slice up and toast the loaf of Italian bread her mother had picked up the day before in the mark down bin at the end of the day. She spread butter on the toasted tops and sprinkled some salt and herbs on them before setting the plate down on the table.

“I’ll do the dishes, you get out of your fine dress. I don’t know why you didn’t change in the first place,” Sarah snapped at Molly. She simply nodded, untying the back of the apron and hanging it back on it’s hook. She left the kitchen and the tempting smells but suffocating heat and went up to her room. 

Molly opened her bedroom door and stepped into her room and quickly closed the door behind her. She let out a heavy sigh and stared up at the ceiling as if she’d find answers to all her troubles. The only response she got was the squeaking of her ceiling fan. She sighed again before reaching her hands behind her head to unhook and unzip her dress. Once it was undone, she let the garment fall to her feet. She stepped out of it and was about to pick it up when she caught movement in the corner of her eye in the doorway of the dark bathroom.

Before Molly could investigate, a blur moved before her and a clammy hand sealed itself against her mouth. She tried to scream but the noise was lost. 

“Shhh, it’s me.”

Molly’s panicked eyes looked up and met familiar blue ones, but her body was already revved up like engine and she trashed against the taller teenager. It took a few moments of muffled yells before she gained control of her senses and allowed her body to go slack against his firm chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, removing his hand from her mouth but still shushing her as he eased her to a seated position on her bed. He reached behind them to grab the string of her blinds and pulled them shut to avoid the potential prying eyes of any neighbors. He had climbed into the house from her parents’ room as the windows faced toward the backyard and not the road with its slow traffic. He didn’t need to get Molly in further trouble, especially when her parents worried so much about reputations. 

“Sherlock,” Molly quietly but angrily hissed, “what are you doing here?!” He replied quickly, “I couldn’t wait to speak with you about what happened with Father O’Brian.”

The anger that Molly was feeling quickly evaporated and she looked into Sherlock’s blue eyes with an adoring and hopeful expression. He took her small hands within his larger ones, gently running his calloused thumbpads over her soft knuckles. She noted his chest seemed to swell with pride as he explained another obstacle to their eventual nuptials would soon be gone. 

“I first had to promise Father O’Brian that you weren’t pregnant,” Sherlock explained, causing her blush, “and once I had he was more than happy to agree to baptize me at mass next week.”

Molly looked with shock at her loving boyfriend, noticing he was still in his church clothes, and asked, “In front of everyone?” She seemed startled that Sherlock would agree to such a public spectacle. She was worried that with some many people there that knew him, especially from school, that someone would expose him as non-believer. He eagerly nodded, “I’ll unfortunately need to come to mass every Sunday after that, which was part of the deal so that I didn’t have to attend classes. He’s granting me leeway because of the theology classes I took in school.”

There was a pause as Molly felt Sherlock’s bright eyes examine her concerned face. He lowered his head so that he was only inches from her face and said calmly, “I’m doing this for us.”

“You’re doing this me,” Molly whispered back, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. She always dreamed of her church wedding but just hearing about that Sherlock was going to sacrifice his Sundays, even if it was within her company and put himself through a ceremony in front of the large group of church goers made her feel entirely selfish. He was already keeping himself busy to raise money to buy her a ring. What was she offering him? 

“I would do anything for you,” Sherlock said firmly, lifting his chin so he could press a kiss to Molly’s forehead. She sighed at the feeling of his warm lips and leaned into his body. She had forgotten she was only in her undergarments when she felt Sherlock’s arms wrap around her and his hands rested on her exposed back.

The young couple stayed still for several moments before Molly pulled back and said, “I’m sorry I’m not more enthusiastic. I’ve been having a trying day.”

“I understand,” he replied, pressing another kiss to her forehead. She reached out to brush her fingers on his cheek and said, “I’m truly happy and so grateful for everything that you do for me.” He replied with a kiss to her lips, causing her hand to fall to his shoulder. He seemed eager but not forceful as she felt his tongue asking for entrance at her lips. She obliged and allowed him to deepen the kiss, quietly moaning as he pushed her onto her back. She had to admit she was also leaning back and pulling him just as much.

Molly knew it was wrong to let Sherlock press her into the mattress when she was almost naked, but she felt a sudden sense of danger and thrill course through her veins. She had locked her door, but she knew her parents could interrupt them at any moment. That knowledge only seemed to make her more excited.

“Touch me,” Molly breathed out huskily when she realized that Sherlock was keeping himself propped up with his hands beside her shoulders. He was straddling one of her legs but was not allowing his body to rest with hers. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was nervous, inexperienced, or considerate. 

Sherlock looked surprised that his timid girlfriend had given him such a command. He shifted his weight so that he could free his right hand and then looked down to her chest and then to her face once more. She nodded, giving him silent permission that it was really ok for him to place his hands on her body. He leaned down again and kissed her passionately before he ran his hand to her hair. He used soft fingers to run down her cheek, then to lightly tickle her neck. She moaned at the feeling of his fingertips grazing her collarbone before he finally cupped her breast through the cotton material of her bra. His thumb could easily feel the hardened bud of her nipple through the fabric and rubbed circles over it.

Molly gasped at the sensation though it seemed to be from his hand as well as the sudden pressure of his thigh rubbing firmly against the peak between her thighs.

Sherlock kissed Molly’s jawline as she desperately sucked air between her swollen lips and whispered, “I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position, but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

Molly ran her hands around Sherlock’s waist and gripped at the fabric of his shirt. He lowered his head to her neck and felt him nip at the skin and then paused for her reactions. She realized quickly that he was cataloging her noises and breathing pattern and determining what was getting the best reactions from her. She didn’t know how he could make use of any of the data he was acquiring because every little way that he touched her or kissed her made her feel as if she was going to combust. She never wanted it to end and she knew it was a problem.

“Molly,” Sherlock said, his hot breath hitting her ear, “please tell me to stop or I’m going to take this too far.” His hand moved from her breast to the soft skin of her belly. She shivered uncontrollably from the sensation of his hands on her skin. She never could imagine being touched on her stomach of all places could make her feel so enthralled.

Sherlock was lightly fingering the band of her underwear when she suddenly understood the words that were being spoken to her, “Tell me to stop or I’m going to make love to you.”

“Stop,” she suddenly cried out.

It happened so quickly. Sherlock’s hands were gone, and his body seemed to fly off her. He was wrapping her in a towel and muttering, “I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

It took minutes before Molly’s chest was no longer heavily rising and falling from the excitement. Her face and chest were red with embarrassment and lingering excitement. She was clutching the towel to her chest and watching as Sherlock tugged at his own curls, almost punishing himself for something that Molly wanted just as much as he did. He sat on the far end of the bed and was trying to turn from her.

“Sherlock,” she sighed sadly, “it’s ok. Come back here.” She opened an arm out to him but used the other to keep the towel over her. He shook his head, “I know better, Molly.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Molly said soothingly, “I want it as much as you do.” He looked to her with a darkness in his eyes, “But I know you want to wait, and you would have let me do it if I didn’t give you a way out.”

Molly couldn’t deny that he was right. If his words had not jumpstarted her pacified mind to consider what they were about to do, they would be in a very different position in that very moment. She had never considered how easy it could be to commit a sin that could not be undone. She couldn’t ask for her virginity back. There wasn’t a penance big enough to forgive that or wash it away. She could never imagine asking Father O’Brian for forgiveness for such an act.

“Now we know the temptation is there, we can plan ahead” Molly said, trying to find a way to bring peace to the situation they were in. Sherlock scoffed, “I’ve always know the temptation has been there. Now I’m the reason you know it’s there too.” She looked with concern and asked, “What do you suggest? Do we stop seeing each other?”

Sherlock shook his head and met her eyes, “I love you too much to keep our distance. This past week has been a struggle you can’t imagine.”

Molly could imagine but she did not want to push further. She nodded, “I don’t want to be kept away from you either.”

“No more sneaking into each other’s room,” Sherlock said, looking miserable at the worlds spilling from his mouth. She frowned as well, already feeling an ache in her chest at the thought of them no longer taking naps in his bed when his parents were out. 

Sherlock sighed, “It’ll be easier once I go to school and this time next year, you’ll be my wife and it won’t matter any longer.”

Molly’s heart raced momentarily at the thought of Sherlock finally coming to his senses about going to college but also she loved whenever he said she would be his wife. She just hoped she could survive the wait until they could be together. Her heart ached as Sherlock stood up and brushed the wrinkles from his clothes. He could not look her in the eye as he said, “I need to go home.” She glanced at the small clock on her nightstand and saw it was almost time for dinner. She stood up as well, still holding the towel to her chest and said, “My father wants me to call you and invite you over tonight after dinner to watch the moon landing. Will you come?”

“I’ll rush home now so I can answer the phone when you call,” was all that Sherlock said on the matter. He then ushered Molly to the bathroom, closing the door for her as she stepped inside. She flicked the light on as the door clicked shut. She held her breath so that she could hear his quiet footsteps as he walked across her room and opened her door so that he could sneak out the way that he had come in. 

Molly waited what felt like hours to hear for any commotion in her house that Sherlock may have been caught. Once she was sure there was no drama to be had, she stripped herself naked and looked at her flustered face and chest in the mirror. Her pink nipples were still hard ands he found herself mindlessly rubbing a finger over one until it softened. Enjoying the way it felt more than she thought she might. She then did the same to the other but then pinched it slightly like she had felt Sherlock do only a short while ago. She closed her eyes for a moment sighed. She let it go and looked at herself again and said, “You’re a sinner, Mary Magdalene Hooper.”


	6. Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter. I'm going to be moving things alone in the next couple of chapters so that we can get into the good stuff.

“Mom, can we talk?” Sherlock nervously asked his mother after dinner while she was cleaning the dishes from their meal. His father had already abandoned them to eventually fall asleep on the couch in front of the tv.

There was a slight hesitation from Violet as she internally cataloged all the things that could possibly bring her son to speak to her outside of mealtimes or when she needed him to do his chores. She rinsed the plate in her hands and set it on the kitchen towel she had laid out to dry. She then turned the sink off, dried her hands on her apron, and looked to her grown son with concern and asked in response, “Is everything ok?”

A slight blush appeared on Sherlock’s cheeks as he considered how best to speak to his mother about what was on his mind. He stupidly blurted out, “You’re a woman, right?”

Off all the things that Violet thought this conversation was going to be about, she was not expecting it to be a talk about women. She smiled with relief and just a hint of amusement, which left him feeling slightly confused. He wondered if he had missed some social cues when she replied with a lighter tone, “Yes, Sherlock, I’m a woman.”

Sherlock nodded with his face burning just a little redder, “Right, of course you are.” He cleared his throat and placed a hand on the counter, leaning into it as he asked, “By any chance were you a virgin when you and dad were married?”

“Oh,” Violet said suddenly, not knowing she was going to be taken for quite a ride with this conversation and so quickly. She could tell it was embarrassing Sherlock even asking her such a question, but she was humbled that he wanted to discuss this with her. She would be as open as she could if it meant her son trusted her enough to speak of such things. She imagined he was having concerns with Molly and she wanted to ensure their relationship was steady as the young girl had done wonders for Sherlock’s behavior and attitude.

Violet took a deep breath and then huffed with slight guilt and said, “We didn’t wait as we ought. We were just a few weeks shy.”

“Did you want to wait?” Sherlock quickly asked, trying to get the information he needed from his mother so that he could end this conversation as quickly as possible. She gave him a timid smile and said, “Growing up, they tell us girls that men don’t want to date virgins but they want to marry them. Of course, I wanted to wait but what they don’t tell you is that boys and girls have the same urges.”

As with many things, Sherlock was aware of the double-standards forced onto women. He hadn’t actually considered that the hormones raging through his body causing him to lust for Molly could be just as strong in her. 

The teenager nodded and then met his mother’s eye, “Did you ever regret not being a virgin when you married?”

A small smile grew on his mother’s face, “Not for a moment. I loved your father and knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I didn’t need a priest or a city clerk to join us first.” 

Despite not being religious, both Siger and Violet’s parents had been Christians and insisted on a church wedding. Once the wedding had taken place, they never attended church unless they had to for a funeral, wedding, or baptism for their family and friends.

“I’m assuming you’re contemplating your relationship with Molly?” Violet asked gently, knowing if she pried at her son too roughly for information that he would close himself off. He nodded and said, “We’re both feeling that… desire, but Molly has expressed before that she wanted to marry as a virgin.”

Violet gave her son a weak smile and said, “Relationships are tough, honey, you’re going to need to talk this out with her. All I can say is you’re going to need to respect her decision. She might change her mind from time to time but you need to support her through her decisions. If you really think she’ll do something she regrets, don’t just make the choices for her. Work it out with her. Perhaps you can find a compromise to the situation.”

“A compromise?” Sherlock asked with confusion. His mother blushed fiercely and suddenly and said, “Well, you know… there are other things you can do besides sex.”

Sherlock stared blankly at his mother. She wanted to curl up in one of the kitchen cabinets and die but she also knew she needed to properly guide her son. He wasn’t the most attune to social cues so she swallowed her humiliation and then said, “I know you don’t like to read fiction but I’ll bring some books to your room later. Maybe give them a read through.”

“Fiction,” Sherlock said with disgust but he then he asked hesitantly, “You think they’ll help?”

“I think it’ll open your mind to new ideas,” his mother replied, barely able to make eye contact with her son. She then cleared her throat and said, “I think that’s all on the matter that I feel comfortable discussing. If you still have questions I’d suggest talking to your father when he isn’t comatose in front of the tv.”

Happy to also end the discussion that he had started, Sherlock quickly escaped the kitchen just as the phone rang. “Got it!” he bellowed, running back to the phone hanging near the kitchen and grabbed the handset before his mother could even look to the phone. He held the phone to his ear and quickly responded as his mother had always forced him to, “Holmes Residence, this is Sherlock.”

“It’s me,” said a familiar and mousy voice. His heart soared at the sound despite only seeing her a few hours ago. He hoped he did not leave her too upset that she wouldn’t call him like she said she would. 

“How are you?” Sherlock asked, eyeing his mother in the kitchen and seeing her slowly drying a plate in attempt to eavesdrop. He breathed a sigh of relief as she replied, “I’m quite well. I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight to watch the moon landing on our tv?” 

Sherlock smiled, knowing she was using the phone in her own kitchen where he was sure her parents would be able to hear her. He replied, “I’d take any chance to spend time with you.”

“The landing will be a bit late, but my father says he’ll drive you home if your parents don’t want you walking so late,” Molly offered. He frowned, knowing from what little Molly had told him that the sickly man was in no shape to drive him around so late. He looked to his mom and called out, “Is it ok if I go to Molly’s to watch the moon landing? Her father invited me.”

Violet frowned, looking at the clock on the wall and said, “It’s getting a bit late. Are you sure Jim is ok with you being over there?”

“Molly said her father can drive me home afterwards,” Sherlock replied, though he had no intention of letting him drive him home. He would walk himself home. His mother stared at him for a moment and then sighed, “If Jim says it’s okay than it’s fine with me. Just be careful.”

Sherlock gave his mother a charismatic grin that caused her to roll her eyes. He went back into the hallway and said, “We’re all good. I’ll start walking over now before it gets too dark.”

“I love you,” Molly said almost cautiously, he wondered if her father was listening. He lowered his voice and responded, “I love you too.”

There was a click before Sherlock hung the phone up. He was about to run up to his room to put on a fresh shirt when he heard his mother call out to him. He paused at the base of the stairs as his mother appeared in the archway of the kitchen, once again drying her hands on her apron and clearing her throat to draw his attention.

“Your father says you want to marry Molly next year. Is that right?” she questioned him carefully. He simply nodded. She gave him a sad smile and said, “If Jim’s inviting you over himself, I think it’s a sign that he knows he’s not long for this world. You might want to ask him for permission for Molly’s hand before it’s too late.”

Sherlock had not considered how much time he had left to ask her, but he could imagine how much it would mean to Molly if he did it soon before it became too late. He looked to his mother after contemplating the idea but said nothing. He was too deep in his thoughts to say anything to her. She wasn’t offended or surprised by that. What surprised her was when he stepped back down the stairs and approached her in two broad steps. He pulled her quickly into a hug and then bolted up the stairs before he could see the emotions on her face from his affection. 

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to change his shirt, grab his flashlight, and head out the door. It was an uneventful walk to the Hooper’s home, and he approached their door with a spring in his step as he knocked. Only one car was in the driveway so he knew that Molly’s mother already left for work. It took only seconds for Molly to greet him at the door with a sheepish smile. She was blushing and he was sure it was because of their encounter earlier that day. 

“Come on in, I’m was just about to make popcorn,” Molly said, leading Sherlock inside. She led him to the living room where her father was well settled on the couch. He looked much worse than Sherlock could have anticipated but did his best to cover his surprise.

“Ah, Sherlock,” Jim Hooper said before coughing. He smiled once it passed, “You look like you’ve grown a few inches since I’ve last seen you.” His tone was teasing as Sherlock easily towered over the shorter man since the day they met at the beginning of his relationship with Molly. 

It was rare that Sherlock encountered Molly’s father as he knew he wasn’t his biggest fan. It was always easier to see her when he was at work or just have Molly come to his house. He was rather shocked at his positive expression, but he had his suspicions thanks to his mother.

“Thanks for having me,” Sherlock said, remembering his manners. The words sounded forced, but he knew he had to make the effort. He approached the terminally ill man and held out a hand to shake.

Jim wheezed before taking Sherlock’s hand and asked, “How’s that brilliant brother of yours doing?” 

Sherlock glanced to Molly and could see her roll her eyes. He replied hesitantly, “I believe he’s fine. He’s moved to D.C. proper and doesn’t come home too often.”

“That’s a shame, I’m always liked him,” Jim replied.

“Right, dad,” Molly said, “I’m going to go make that popcorn.” She then looked to Sherlock and asked, “Would you care to help?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, wanting to avoid any conversation about his brother if it could be helped. Jim nodded them off as they left the living room, leaving him to the evening news program discussing about the event that would occur late in the night. Once they were in the relative safety of the kitchen, Molly whispered, “He’s been obsessed with Mycroft since he dropped me off on graduation night. Ignore him.”

Sherlock’s brows collided with confusion, “He’s aware that Mycroft is eight years older than you, right? I mean… he’s practically ancient.” Molly giggled at the look of disgust on Sherlock’s face but punched him arm slightly and said, “Don’t be mean about your brother. My dad just likes that Mycroft has a steady job and stays out of trouble.”

“If you ask me, I’d say Mycroft causes more trouble than…” Sherlock began to protest but Molly quickly silenced him by standing on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his.

It was a very brief kiss and Molly quickly looked to the entrance of the kitchen to make sure her father didn’t suddenly get up to check on them. She was relieved that her display of affection went unnoticed outside of the kitchen.

Molly then looked at Sherlock with a heavy blush in her cheeks and said, “You’re the only troublemaker I want.” He was caught off guard by her affections but found himself smirking at her boldness. 

The young couple said nothing else as Molly placed a pot on the gas range. Sherlock struck a match from the small jar on the counter and lit the burner while Molly poured the kernels in. She smiled to herself at the sound. It reminded her of her playhouse at her grandmother’s house when she was a child. She would sometimes get caught in the rain and the heavy drops would make a similar sound when it hit the tin roof. Her grandmother was nearly a decade in the ground, but the memories were still near and dear to Molly.

It didn’t take long for the popcorn to pop and the smell to flow out into the living room. Before they brought the big bowl out to Molly’s father, she snuck one more quick kiss on an unexpecting Sherlock. She marched out into the living room before he could react. When Molly approached her father, he had an eager smile on his face, “Smells just like the stuff at the theater.”

Molly and Sherlock settled on the loveseat, leaving Jim Hooper to settle comfortably on the couch. Molly’s legs were mere centimeters apart from Sherlock’s, but they maintained the distance under her father’s watchful eye. They passed the bowl of popcorn back and forth though Sherlock did not take any for himself. Molly was used to Sherlock’s eating habits, but Jim was not. He eyed her boyfriend several times but said nothing.

The evening progressed at what felt like a glacial pace for Sherlock. The actual landing had taken place earlier that day, but it wasn’t until nearly 10:30 P.M. when the news focused on the first ever moonwalk. Molly was in absolute awe while her father made noises of dissatisfaction mixed with words of disbelief. His daughter shushed him throughout it all. 

Sherlock had little to go by as he rarely kept any information in his mind regarding space or the solar system. He knew enough about physics, aerodynamics, and thermodynamics that he supposed he could make some educated guesses that what they were seeing was real, but he honestly didn’t care. He was only there so that Molly could grip his sleeve and tell him, “Look at that!” He supposed it could be worse. She could have been the type of girl who dragged him shopping or to romantic movies. 

Once the broadcast had ended and the news anchors were talking feverishly about what they saw, Jim Hooper was quick to dismiss Molly, “Off to bed with you, young lady.”

“Let me walk Sherlock to the door,” she responded, a sad look in her eyes to see Sherlock off despite the hour and the fact that he had done little during his visit. She was ordered upstairs again, “I’ll see to Sherlock, you go to bed. Don’t make me tell you again.” His instruction was followed by several hacking coughs.

The young couple stood from the loveseat and looked to each other. She beamed up at him and said, “Thanks for coming over, Sherlock.” She nervously wrung her fingers in the hem of her shirt. 

“It was my pleasure,” Sherlock replied smoothly despite the glare from her father and the fact that his only pleasure came from the brief kisses she had snuck on him earlier. He suspected he could have done a large amount of reading and maybe called Lestrade to see if he had any cases he could peak at. 

There was a long pause before Molly finally said, “Well… good night.”

“Good night,” he said softly as she quickly turned from him and shuffled across the living room towards the stairs. Once she was out of sight, Sherlock looked to Jim and said, “Thank you for having me, Mr. Hooper. You don’t need to walk me out.”

“Sit,” Jim coughed, nodding for him to reclaim the loveseat. He frowned but did as he was told and waited with a bit of hesitation as the older man cleared his airways. When he was able to speak, he firmly said to Sherlock, “I’m sure you have an idea why I invited you over tonight.” The nervous teenager simply nodded. He expected the conversation to be about what his mother had said to him earlier.

“Molly’s a very sensitive girl, as I’m sure you’re aware, and she’s getting to an age where she thinks she knows better than her mother and I.” Jim started but then paused to cough once more. Once the fit passed he continued, “I’ve done my best to protect Molly since she was a born but things are about to get ugly and I need to know there’s someone looking after her.”

Sherlock studied the man’s face and realized that he was aware of his diagnosis. Jim could see the understanding and said, “They thought I wouldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I’ve been putting on a song and dance for them, but it needs to be said…I’m dying.” He took a labored breath and went on, “I know you know it. I know what Molly’s mother is trying to do and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure my family will be ok once I’m gone.”

“I promise to take care of Molly for the rest of her life,” Sherlock quickly provided his affirmation, but Jim simply shook his head, “It’s going to be more than that.” There was more wheezing and coughing before he finally choked out, “I’m not Molly’s father.”

There was a deafening silence between the two men that was only softened by the quiet murmur of the tv. It’s light washed over their faces in the dim room but did nothing to distract Sherlock’s shocked expression or Jim’s defeated one.

“Sarah was married to my twin brother, Brandon. He died in Korea when Molly was a year old. I married her mother and took my brother’s place. Even her brother Daniel didn’t know,” Jim explained. It made sense why Sherlock never had such a suspicion. They must have been identical to make such a swap and was why his features resembled Molly’s.

Jim sighed heavily, “My family never liked Sarah and wanted nothing to do with the kids because of her. They were more upset when I came in. I just couldn’t let my brother’s family suffer like that.”

Sherlock said nothing, waiting for the reason Jim was explaining all of this to him. He did not have to wait long, “There are some vultures in my family who are going to fight tooth and nail against my will. My brother left everything to Sarah and the kids. They didn’t want me to do the same. I never adopted Molly or Daniel as I should have but it’s too late. Molly is going to be caught up in all of this and no matter what she’s going to find out that I’m not…” There was a choking pause before he forced the words, “her father.”

“Sarah,” Jim sniffled, “is not taking this well. She’s closing herself off the way she did when Brandon died. She’s taking it out on Molly, and I don’t know how much more the poor girl can take. I need to know you’re going to be there for Molly to help see her through this.”

Sherlock saw his moment and said, “I’ll do whatever I have to to make sure Molly is supported. I want to marry her, Mr. Hooper. I promise to keep her safe and make her happy.”

Jim gave him a sad smile and said, “I was never happy she chose you.”

A sinking feeling hit Sherlock in the gut, and he tried to find something to say but the feeble man continued, “I would have liked someone stable like your brother, but I know Molly better than she thinks I do. If I pushed too hard, she’d probably run off and elope with you.”

“I’m going to marry your daughter,” Sherlock restated, “and she will have everything you ever wanted for her. If there was a way I could prove it to you, I would do it.”

“When she ran to your house last week, I knew it was over. I can’t protect her anymore and I have no choice but to give you my blessing, Sherlock,” he finally said, catching the teenager off guard. He had not expected that at all, especially since he was so adamant about his brother being best for Molly. He knew that was the furthest from the truth as he did not know Mycroft at all. His brother was good at impressing people with his well-studied charm, but he was evil within, or so he thought. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure what else to say. He wasn’t exactly complimenting him or trusting Molly to him. He was giving her to him for lack of better options. Still, it was better than being denied access to Molly. He waited until another wave of coughing passed the man before he finally said, “No matter what you think of me, Molly will have the best life, Mr. Hooper.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it and I’m done talking about it. You can marry Molly with my blessing. You can tell her that but nothing else that I’ve told you. I don’t want to see her face when she finds out I’m not her father. I’d rather die a more painful death than see that.”

Sherlock nodded before he finally stood up. He offered his hand to the man that would most likely never know what it was like to be his father-in-law, but the man refused to shake his hand. He gave him a firm look before finally saying, “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

It wasn’t really a surprise the man didn’t offer a ride like Molly said that he would which saved Sherlock the hassle of refusing. He quickly left the Hooper household feeling an overwhelming sense of dread and hope. He had the permission he needed but knew that Molly was soon to face an unbearable amount of emotional pain over the next few months. His biggest concern was that her father would pass after he left for Harvard and he wouldn’t be able to support her like he had promised. He considered the idea of marrying before Molly turned eighteen, but she’d need a parent to give legal permission and since Jim had confessed that he had never adopted Molly, and Sarah was not Sherlock’s biggest fan anymore, that plan was not valid. He knew if Molly was pregnant that she could marry without her mother’s permission but that brought a whole new wave of drama that Sherlock wanted to avoid. Not to mention, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about children. Thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure how Molly felt about them either. 

Sherlock worried about things that were truly beyond his control until he arrived home. His mother had left the porch light on for him, but the house was dark. He quietly entered the house and went up to his room before stripping to his underwear and collapsing on his bed. He glanced to his nightstand and saw the books his mother had promised him, stacked neatly with a chocolate chip cookie resting on a napkin placed on top. He flicked on his lamp and grabbed the cookie, shoving it entirely in his mouth. He then grabbed the first book and blushed at the title, _Any Man Will Do_. The cover showed a nude woman whose breasts were only covered by the sleeve of a man’s suit jacket. Her pubic area was covered in a similar fashion with the tail end. He quickly dropped the book on the floor.

The next book in the stack was tamer. It was a couple passionately kissing and called _Night of Fire and Snow._ It was marked as an uncensored abridgment and the tag line on the book read, _When they were alone they could shut out the world. Then came the deceits, the petty lies…_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and also dropped the book to the floor but with less shock this time. The next book seemed more promising though made him roll his eyes a bit. It pictured a woman embracing a man from behind, almost checking his carotid artery for a pulse. It was called _Trigger Mortis_.

It seemed the titles weren’t going to get any better so Sherlock finishing chewing his cookie before rolling on his back. He tried not to notice the broken in spine of the paperback as he opened it and began this new form of education.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested... the books that Sherlock's mom lended him are real titles.  
> Trigger Mortis by Frank Kane, Night of Fire and Snow by Alfred Coppel, and Any Man Will Do by Greg Hamilton. I'll be perfectly honest, I googled around so I don't know how "informative" those books are but hey, it's fiction.


	7. Orientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for an update. I have been feeling well and had surgery but I'm on the mend and really pumped to get more writing done. I hope you like this update. I hope to have another chapter done this weekend!

Summer was nearly over and the stifling heat that had overwhelmed the east coast was finally relenting. It couldn’t come soon enough to professional men such as Mycroft who wore unforgiving business suits on record high days. He considered perspiration a sign of weakness when negotiating or interacting with his colleagues or representatives of other countries, so much so that he kept spare suits and shirts at the office when he needed to look fresh and sharp for an important meeting. Anthea ensured he was looking his best whenever he stepped out of the large cavern of an office that he had finally settled in.

After several weeks of contemplation and an embarrassing scolding from a supervisor, Mycroft resigned from his position with the Department of Defense. It seemed a gamble when he arrived home and wondered how on earth he’d continue to make his mortgage payment. He had called Donahue Warren from a payphone near the grocery store by his house the next day, as he was concerned about his phone being tapped since the day he had been called to the president’s office. 

When Mycroft called, a woman answered, “Thank you for calling the public relations office. This is Pam, how may I help you today?”. He felt so unimportant when he said, “This is Mycroft Holmes for Donahue Warren.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have anyone by that name here, perhaps you have the wrong number?” the woman replied with a smug tone. He could almost envision her face as he sighed and said, “This was the number given to me. Perhaps he goes by Hue?”

With an exaggerated tone she replied, “You should have said that in the first place, Mr. Holmes. He’ll contact you soon. Have a nice day.”

There was a click and the line went dead. 

Mycroft stared at the phone as if it had personally offended him. He put the phone back on the receiver and quickly exited the small booth. When he arrived home, he found himself staring at the phones on his wall for several hours. They remained silent and it made him feel more and more uneasy about resigning his position.

Three days had passed, and Mycroft had not left his house in fear of missing the phone. It was nearing noon on the fourth day when there was a knock at the front door. Mycroft was dressed smartly in a suit as if he was expected at the office and bolted from his spot at the kitchen table where he forced himself to read several newspapers, including the sections he cared little for such as the lifestyles section. He was at the door in moments and threw it open with gusto.

A severely disappointing look overcame Mycroft’s face when he saw it was Anthea.

“Good morning, sir,” Anthea said calmly, her hands clasped delicately over her abdomen. Her hair was styled in a flawless flipped bob despite the humidity. She wore a honey colored boatneck dress that fell just past her knee. She looked like a younger Jacqueline Kennedy, now commonly referred to in the papers as Jackie O following her marriage to the Greek shipping tycoon Aristotle Onassis the year prior. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Mycroft asked in an almost scolding tone as if he were still her superior. He had informed her that he’d contact her once he started his new position, but now he was convinced that he was properly unemployed and would be for some time.

Anthea gave her normal mocking smile and said, “I’ve been asked to fetch you, sir.”

“Excuse me?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked past her for a moment and saw an idling black Cadillac Fleetwood. There was a man in a dark suit sitting in the driver’s seat with a hand hanging from the window flicking ashes from his cigarette. 

“Your presence is requested, Mr. Holmes,” Anthea said, not expanding further. He wanted to remind her who was in charge, but it would be a blatant lie. Instead he nodded, his cheeks slightly red with the embarrassment of being fetched by his assistant. He quickly went inside to grab his wallet and keys. After locking his front door, he followed Anthea to the car. She opened the door for the back seat and sat down. She scooted across the grey leather and left the door open for him to join her. He sat inside and the car began to reverse before he had completely pulled the heavy door closed.

Mycroft looked at Anthea, noticing how at ease she was. He asked, “You’re not really a secretary, are you?” The younger woman looked to him with a smile and simply replied, “No.”

“And I assume there’s no point in asking where we’re going?”

Her continued smile and lack of response was enough of an answer.

After a few moments, Mycroft settled back into the seat and looked out the window. Trees and houses passed by slowly until they were on the highway. They forged south for close to an hour in the heavy traffic that surrounded all areas of D.C. before they finally exited not far from Capital Hill. A few twists and turns among the disorderly and poorly laid out streets of the capital and they were parked in front of an indiscriminate office building. It seemed more modern than some of the buildings nearby and wasn’t drastically far from his previous location of employment. 

Once they had passed through the rotating doors, Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief when the cold office air washed over him. The car they were in had air-conditioning but it could not keep up with the sun beating down on it through the traffic. Their driver had escorted them inside and acted similar to Mycroft before branching off to the building’s cafeteria. Only Anthea acted indifferent to the cool air as she led him past a table for security, where the guards began to ask for Mycroft’s identification. She shot a look at the guards, who backed down immediately and allowed them to pass, and then waved Mycroft ahead of her toward a bank of elevators.

“Don’t worry,” Anthea said, after pushing the call button for the elevators, “they’ll know exactly who you are soon enough.”

Mycroft said nothing, unsure of what exactly was happening. He was doing his best to stay calm, composed, and unsurprised by the day’s events. The elevator door in front of them opened after several moments, which allowed Mycroft to realize the elevator had an independent call button from the other elevators. Anthea ushered him inside and punched a code on a small keypad above the set of numbers for the floors. The door to the elevator did not close until the light on the keypad turned green. 

“Don’t bother memorizing it. It changes twice a day,” Anthea said as she pushed the button for floor 18, the top floor. Mycroft looked to his secretary, or former secretary, he really wasn’t quite sure anymore, “Were you working here while you were working for me?”

“I still work for you, but yes,” she replied smugly. “I was a recruiter, until now.” His eyebrows clashed in confusion, “What are you now?”

Anthea met his concerned face with a smile and said, “I’m your personal assistant.” Before Mycroft could even say anything, she added, “That doesn’t mean I’m your secretary. I’m fluent in Russian, German, Cantonese, Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese… just to name a few. I’m also trained in several forms of combat, interrogation, and espionage.”

Mycroft was aware of many things in life, but his assistant’s background was a huge gap in his knowledge and deductive capabilities. He imagined her personal life involved getting drinks with the other secretaries after work and trying to find a husband. He couldn’t be more wrong and that both impressed and terrified him.

“I’m not trying to brag,” she said as the elevator began to slow its ascent as they reached their floor, “I just want you to know I’m not the type of assistant that gets your dry cleaning.”

“Noted,” was all Mycroft could say before the elevator doors opened. They stepped out into a typical office lobby with two large desks on either side and pretty, young women typing away and occasionally picking up a ringing telephone. 

The one to the left, a stylish blonde with a high ponytail and cherries embroidered on her cardigan said, “Is this is the new one?” Her white teeth nearly glowed in contrast to her red lipstick. She eyed Mycroft up and down as if he were the menu for lunch, making him slightly uncomfortable.

Anthea laughed, “Mycroft, this is Penny, don’t mind her. The girls don’t get too much action up here.” As she said that, Mycroft could just barely make out the slight bulge of a handgun under her cardigan. The girl opposite Penny had just ended a phone call and said with a thick Boston accent, “Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me?” She stood up at her desk but was tethered to her phone so she stood in place. Mycroft could also see she was discreetly armed.

Both Penny and Anthea rolled their eyes before Penny pointed at her brunette and similarly dressed coworker with a pencil and said, “That’s Donna, she’s brains but I’m the beauty up here.” 

Mycroft considered both women to be conventionally attractive but neither caused any reaction within him. He politely nodded to them but was spared making any socially appropriate remarks when Anthea said, “You’re both beautiful morons. Now get back to work.”

Despite her cruel worlds, all three women laughed. The secretaries resumed their tasks as Anthea brought him to a wall of glass with double swinging glass doors in the center. Mycroft noted that throughout the journey through the building, not a single thing gave way to an organization name. All he knew was what Hue had told him about them being off the books. They were the American government if he was to be believed. He had almost expected a name to be on the door as would appear in most office buildings, which was a silly thought considering everything that had happened to this point. 

Anthea pushed the door open and allowed Mycroft to walk through ahead of her. To his right was a janitor’s closet but when he looked to the left, it was an open floor crammed with cubicles and desks. The walls were lined with private offices with a corresponding desk for each, occupied with a young and pretty secretary typing furiously at a typewriter or pinching a phone between her ear and shoulder while she wrote something of seeming importance.

“These are our top level agents and analysts. The offices along the sides are mostly for our senior executives. I’ll bring you to Hue’s office first and he’ll get you acquainted,” Anthea said, walking in front of Mycroft again and leading him into the chaos. The agents were almost all male, with the exception of a few women who looked flawless but deadly fierce. He caught some interactions as they walked past as men would lean into their cubicles and they would show very forwardly their lack of interest. 

They were only halfway through the forest of cubicles when a man, who appeared to be Mycroft’s age, reached out of his cubicle and firmly pinched Anthea’s bottom through her dress. Mycroft intended on acting as the man said loudly, “Anty baby, when you gonna let me take you out for dinner?”

Anthea spun on her heel and with exceptional efficiency and speed, introduced her fist with his face and sent him flying back into his office chair. The blood began to run down his face in an instant. 

“Don’t. EVER. Touch. Me. Again.” Anthea growled through gritted teeth. The man cupped his bleeding nose with his face and nodded with a terrified look in his eyes as Anthea straightened herself and said to Mycroft, “Come along.” Several coworkers laughed at the traumatized man as they continued onward. He heard one man say, “Jack, you know better than to touch Anthea. You’re lucky she didn’t cut your balls off and put them in a jar!” He then heard another voice say, “Besides, she’s a resident of the island Lesbos, if you catch my drift.” Mycroft heard one last man say, “You’re not smart, Smithy, lay off the Greek mythology.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in sudden revelation as he ran his eyes over Anthea. He had clearly missed the signs but mainly because it was uncharted territory. If there were any homosexuals in Sherrinford, they were incredibly well hidden. He had no data to compare. He immediately knew he didn’t think any less of Anthea. If anything, he felt concerned for her safety and wellbeing. The riots at the Stonewall Inn in New York City were only a few weeks past. He had read up on it during his downtime since leaving the Department of Defense. His stomach churned at everything going on. Civil rights were practically a joke, gay rights weren’t much better, and the issues caused by the draft didn’t even need to be mentioned again.

“Here we are,” Anthea said, approaching a door with the name ‘Hue Warren’ mounted in metal letters in the center of it. She turned around to face Mycroft before stepping to the side of the door and said, “They’re expecting you.”

Mycroft expected she would announce his arrival but said nothing as he approached the door and opened it cautiously. Once it was open, he understood exactly why Anthea would not enter. It was clearly a boy’s club. The room was filled with thick cigar smoke and several men filled the office, laughing and waving scotch tumblers in their hands decorated with expensive gold rings. He easily made out a few Freemason rings. 

“Ah! Mycroft Holmes!” Hue announced in a muffled voice when he saw Mycroft in the doorway. He was reclining back in his seat with his feet on his desk. He had been balancing his drink on his chest with his cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth. He quickly recovered his glass before it fell as he brought his feet down and popped up to his feet.

“Gentlemen!” Hue called out as Mycroft closed the door, but not before shooting an apathetic look to Anthea. He took a deep breath and stood as tall and as confident as he could. He was clearly very junior to the men in the room. 

Hue placed his tumbler on his messy desk, pinched the cigar from his mouth, and approached Mycroft with an outstretched arm. He clapped his hand on his shoulder and said, “This is the man who is going to replace us all one day.”

“He can have my job right now,” one man snorted in his glass. Hue chuckled, “This is the impressive Mycroft Holmes. I picked him out myself from the D.O.D..”

It wasn’t hard for Mycroft to realize that Anthea had scouted him first and that as the superior, Hue was taking the credit. If her skillset was to be believed, she should be running the show, but these men would never let a woman among their ranks. 

“Mycroft, we expect amazing things from you and I’m happy to have you here,” Hue said, clapping his shoulder once more before placing his hand on his back and pushing him further into the room. He made introductions with the four men in the very spacious office before offering him a cigar he politely declined. The men laughed at him, but he knew better than to cave into such peer pressure. All he wanted to do was escape the room, find his workspace, establish himself and take over this organization. If Hue was to be believed that they were the American government, then it made sense why things were in such a sad state.

When Mycroft turned down several offers of strong liquor, he confessed he did not want to impair his thought processes. “Oh, I heard about this from Anthea!” Hue laughed, “He can look at you and guess your whole life story.”

He wasn’t going to waste his time explaining the difference between a guess and a deduction. He tried to evade the requests to have him tell them what he could see about that them. It happened much more in college than as an adult, but he despised these requests. It wasn’t a party trick though everyone treated it as such. 

After multiple requests and a firm sounding order from Hue, Mycroft caved in.

The first man, Tony Capatelli, cringed as Mycroft listed his deductions aloud, “Habitual cheater with a habit for petty theft, dangerously high blood pressure, athlete’s foot, and an enjoyment for wearing women’s lingerie.”

There was a heavy silence as the men stared first at Mycroft, then to each other, and then finally to the short, round man. They waited for him to laugh and deny it, but his shocked and embarrassed expression told them he had been completely right. He continued with the next, a tall, skinny man with balding temples introduced as Roger Whitley. 

“Another habitual cheater but with a cocaine addiction that has cost you at least two marriages. Your left leg is slightly longer than your right and you compensate with a wedge in your shoe. You smoke despite having asthma and worked illegally in a mine as a child.”

Mycroft quickly moved to John Gleeson, the youngest of the group and said, “Your wife left you, most likely for your long work hours or because you dislike her body after having twins. You are quite vain about appearances and spend more on styling products than all the men in this room combined. You have two… no three cats to displace the loneliness at home. You also run approximately three miles every day unless you’re too hungover.”

Finally, Mycroft turned to Hue and said, “Would you like me to continue?”

Hue looked both flustered but impressed, but he stopped Mycroft and said, “I think that’s quite enough, Mr. Holmes.” They looked at his victims, who all looked mortified. They stared at their drinks, not able to stomach any more liquor or find any words to say. Hue finally chuckled and said, “I think that’s enough for one day. Let’s have Anthea get you to your office.”

Mycroft was escorted out of the office with the door closing firmly behind him once he was past the threshold of the door. It slammed shut behind him.

“That sounds like it didn’t go well,” said a vaguely familiar voice. Mycroft looked down at the desk assigned to the office and saw a younger brunette staring at him with a smug expression. He realized it was Pam, the woman he had spoken to from the pay phone after he had quit his job. He said nothing as she laughed lightly to herself. He looked up to see Anthea coming over to him.

“That was quick,” she said. He said nothing about what had happened and asked, “Can you show me to my office?”

Anthea simply nodded, seemingly understanding what happened in that office. She despised those men and knew Mycroft was going to need all the support he could get. She had a lot of faith in him and she was going to do all she could to make sure he could succeed in this toxic environment. 

Mycroft’s office wasn’t too far from Hue’s and he was rather impressed with the view. He had expected a cubicle, not that he would have minded. He did appreciate the soundproof walls as he could barely hear anything from the main floor. When he sat at his bare desk, Anthea asked, “Would you like me to give you time to settle in before-”

He cut her off, “No, I want to start working immediately. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

He honestly had no clue what he was doing but he was smart and clever. He would figure it out and make himself indispensable. He wasn’t going to be like the men in Hue’s office. He wasn’t going to smoke cigars and pester his coworkers to perform tricks like a show pony. 

“Very well,” Anthea said with a small smile as she saw the fire in his eyes. He wanted change as much as she did. She was glad to be working with him again.


	8. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: This chapter contains underage sex. I debated this a few times and decided to go with this chapter. Molly is 17 and Sherlock is 18. She is able to consent due to being over 16 and they have less than a 4 year age gap so it's legal based on today's laws. I didn't really write the sex for erotic purposes, more to show what's being going on in Sherlock's mind and how their relationship works. I am firm believer in age and consent laws so this is why I felt unsure of this chapter. That all being said, if this bothers you then I would recommend not reading it.

Sherlock stood in his bedroom and frowned at the emptiness. It had taken almost a week and was not a simple feat. He had needed the help of Molly and his mother to get to this point. 

He had committed most of the books he owned to memory and had decided to donate the majority of them to the community library. All his clothing, except for a few things, had been packed in his suitcases, leaving his drawers and closet empty. Most of the scattered paperwork he had from various classes, ideas, or cases had been sorted through by Molly. She had questioned him whether each one was worth keeping and he had replied without really paying attention as he sorted through other boxes containing toys from his childhood and other random odds & ends. They had filled multiple boxes to take to the church for them to sell at their annual summer flea market fundraiser.

The last thing Sherlock had done was remove his posters off the wall, keeping only the Periodic Table of Elements that he intended to hang in his dorm room once he arrived at school. It was rolled up and sticking out of a box, ready for the trip to Harvard. The other items hanging from his wall had been newspaper clippings from his summer ventures or science fair posters. He also had certificates from various academic accomplishments from the times he appropriately applied himself in school. His mother had saved them from the recycling heap and put them in a scrap book despite his protestation that it was unnecessary.

“I’m your mother and I want to brag about my brilliant son. At least this gives me physical proof when your Uncle Rudy rolls his eyes when I tell him you haven’t been committed to a psych ward yet!” his mother had protested. He scoffed, “Yes, well, his cross dressing doesn’t give him much room to talk.”

“Shush!” Violet had said, trying to contain the smile from her face. The truth was that their Uncle Rudy poorly kept his secret that he preferred women’s clothing. The family didn’t care but the man always laid judgement on others, so they rarely took him seriously. 

Violet entered Sherlock’s bare room and gasped, “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” She put a hand to her chest and tried to suppress a sob. Sherlock looked to his mother and said, “I’m not leaving for another two days.” Still, he raised an arm to put around her and pulled her to his chest. She clutched his shirt and said, “What will I do with an empty house? Your brother hardly visits anymore with all the work he has these days.”

“I’ll be back on holidays and breaks,” he replied, though he knew he’d be spending most of that time with Molly. He already pictured their future apartment once she arrived at Harvard. Then they would have no need to return to Sherrinford because they’d already be together. He imagined Molly would still want to come home for things like Christmas or Easter, but he could make a few exceptions for her sake. 

“Hopefully Molly will visit once you’re gone. She’s such a sweet girl,” Violet said, with a tone in her voice that suggested she was waiting for him to say something. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile and dig his free hand into his pocket. He pulled out the small case and handed it to his mother, “I’m asking her today.”

“Sherlock!” Violet screeched, pulling away from him to grab the case and open it. She gasped at the diamond nestled in the embrace of the shining white gold and said, “It’s beautiful, Sherlock!”

It was a relief that his mother approved of the ring. He knew so little about jewelry and Molly rarely wore any so when he originally picked the ring out at Angelo’s, he was worried if it would be the right style. His mother knew more about these things, so her approval meant he had done well. 

Tears were overflowing in Violet’s eyes as she closed the case and grabbed Sherlock’s hand. She placed it in his palm and wrapped his fingers safely around it, “My baby boy is all grown up and about to propose to the woman he loves. You have no idea how happy I am for you.”

“Mom,” Sherlock almost whined and hugged her fully this time. She squeezed him tightly and muttered into his shoulder, “I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.” 

All Sherlock could say was, “Thank you, mom.”

Violet soon let go and laughed, “Sorry, I know I’m being too emotional. It’s just there’s so many things happening so quickly.” She dabbed at her eyes, excused herself, then went downstairs to prepare a cake to celebrate the news.

Sherlock looked down again at the ring’s case. He went over the words he wanted to tell Molly over and over in his head. For some reason, when he tried to say the words out loud, he stuttered and fumbled, second guessing his command of the English language. He had never been like this before. He realized after multiple attempts that he was nervous. Molly never really made him nervous before and he knew that she was going to accept his proposal. He wasn’t sure why this was harder than it needed to be. 

The phone rang from downstairs and echoed up to his room. His mother quickly answered, and he could hear her voice as she said, “Oh, Myc! You’ve called at the best time…”

He rolled his eyes at the thought of his brother and felt annoyed that his mother was telling him anything about what was happening in his life. It had been a rather enjoyable summer not having Mycroft around. He rarely visited and he liked it that way. He was going to like it even more when he was an eight-hour drive away. He’d like to see Mycroft try to meddle in his life with that kind of distance between them. 

Not wanting to get forced to speak to his brother, Sherlock pocketed the ring and quickly headed downstairs. He called out to his mother, “I’m going to Molly’s!” 

Violet had no time to respond, he was already closing the door when she turned to look toward him. He walked briskly to Molly’s house, still going over the words in his head. He said them out loud several times as the peak of her house become visible around the final corner and smiled to himself. He was sure he had it now.

As he approached closer and the full house came in view, his heart felt as if it dropped out of his chest and onto the sidewalk. There was a police car and an ambulance sitting in Molly’s driveway.

Sherlock ran the remaining distance to the house and was coming up the driveway when the front door opened. Detective Lestrade stepped outside, his hat held gingerly in his hands and his head lowered. He had a somber expression. He could just barely read the words on his lips, “I’m sorry again for your loss, Mrs. Hooper.”

After him, a medic bent awkwardly stepped outside. Like a morbid parade, a stretcher with a body covered in a sheet on it followed him as he pulled it. Another medic appeared at the other end pushing. They carefully carried the stretcher down the porch steps as Molly and her mother appeared at the door. Their faces were red with tears streaming down their faces. They braced each other up in the doorway.

It felt as if Sherlock’s feet were made of lead as his steps became heavy and slow. He foraged closer to the house and could hear through Molly’s sobs, “Thank you for coming, Greg.”

The detective bowed his head to her before approaching his car. He turned to get in and saw Sherlock approaching. He frowned at the pale face of the young man he had been secretly working with all summer. He set his hat on his car and approached Sherlock and said, “Mr. Hooper passed this morning, Sherlock.”

“He had cancer,” Sherlock said, the words spilling from his mouth. He was in shock and taking in the scene before him. Lestrade nodded, “I know. The ladies are a bit upset. You might want to give them some space.”

“Molly needs me,” he replied, glaring at Lestrade. He walked past him as the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance. The doors were shut, and the medics walked around to get into the front. Sherlock walked around it and Molly finally noticed his presence.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly cried out and ran from the door and down the steps. She collided heavily with Sherlock who prepared himself and wrapped his long arms around her tightly. She clutched tightly at his shirt, just as his mother had not long ago, and sobbed against him.

Lestrade watched their embrace for only a moment before going back to his car. He grabbed his hat and pulled out of the driveway. The ambulance followed, continuing the somber parade that would lead them to the city morgue. 

Sherlock was still in shock but found his hands moving on their own accord. They ran gently up and down her back, trying to offer some condolence that didn’t require words. Sherlock looked over her shoulder and could see that Mrs. Hooper had crumbled to the floor and was resting against the doorframe, crying just as hard as Molly was. 

He remembered the day Molly had told her about Daniel’s death. She had said the officers came to their front door. Mr. Hooper was at work, so they were alone that day. Her mother had collapsed to the ground. She told him how alone she felt as her mother refused to include anyone in her grief. He quickly shut his eyes and squeezed her tighter. Molly didn’t have him when her brother died but she had him now.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long they stood outside, but soon the heat was becoming unbearable and he could feel Molly getting weaker in his arms. He guided her carefully back up the porch and sat her down at the chair normally reserved for her mother during the summer evenings when the sun would finally rest. He went to the doorway and kneeled before Molly’s mother. He carefully ran his arms around her, and she willingly grabbed him as he quietly helped her to her feet. He slowly walked her into the house and was going to bring her to the couch, but she pushed off him. Without any words, she went to the stairs and dragged herself up to her room.

Molly was no longer crying but her face was red and raw as she looked up at Sherlock when he returned to her. The seat beside her was the seat her father would normally sit in. He decided it was best not to take it and took a knee before her. He took her hands and kissed them. “Molly,” he said gently, “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“He…” Molly began to say, taking a gasping breath, “I…”

“Shhh,” whispered Sherlock, “It’s ok.” He kissed her hands again as she began to cry once more. 

Sherlock had anticipated getting down on one knee before Molly today. He didn’t know that it would be for a different reason than to give her the ring in his pocket. He knew he couldn’t give it to her now. She had admitted to him over the summer about a few of the romantic fantasies she had about the day that he would propose to her. At no point did she ever mention she wanted him to ask her on the day her father died. He wasn’t that clueless to human emotions. 

When Molly’s cries softened, she managed to say, “I can’t stay here. Can we go to your house?”

Sherlock hesitated, not sure what would happen with her mother. He cautiously replied, “If you think that’s what you need, we can go to my house.” She nodded, “I can’t be in this house. I can’t be where he died. Not now.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, kissing her hands once more before releasing them and standing up. He glanced at the still open front door and asked, “I think your mother went to her room. Should we say something?”

Molly shook her head. 

Sherlock then asked, “Would you like me to grab anything from inside before we go?”

“No, I just need you,” was all she said. He nodded and said, “Ok.”

Before helping Molly to her feet, Sherlock stepped into the house to lock the front door from the inside. He closed it behind him as he stepped outside. He offered his hands to Molly and helped her stand on shaky legs. They slowly walked down the porch steps and walked away from the house. She leaned heavily on Sherlock as he kept an arm around her for support and protection. 

How was he going to leave for Harvard now? He would have to leave before the funeral and that was the last thing that Molly needed. She needed his support. He couldn’t abandon her. He had promised her father that he would protect from the fallout of his death. He would need to explain this to his parents. He would also need to find a way to at least defer his enrollment, unless he decided to forgo school entirely. He knew it was his strongest choice to avoid the draft but who around him would protest his decision now that Molly had unknowingly lost a second father. 

The walk to the Holmes residence was slow. It was frequently paused by emotional outbursts from Molly. Sherlock did his best to comfort and console her. He was relieved when they finally made it to his house. 

He opened the front door for Molly and was nearly bombarded by his mother as she cried out, “Congratulations!”

Sherlock and Molly froze in the doorway, too shocked to react at the makeshift banner Violet had hung in the entryway. She was all smiles until she saw the expression on Molly’s face. The tears on her face was clearly not tears of joy. 

“Molly?” she asked hesitantly, her face paling. She then looked to her son, “What happened?”

“My father….” Molly said, “He’s dead.”

“Oh, darling!” Violet exclaimed and pulled the young woman inside to embrace her tightly. “I’m so sorry, you poor sweet thing. If I had known I wouldn’t have hung the banner.”

This caused Molly to pause her tears and say, “What was the banner for?”

Sherlock interrupted, “I was going to propose to you today.” He felt there was no need to lie to her, but he added, “I promise I’ll give you the proposal you deserve though.”

“Sherlock,” Molly nearly whined, trying to find the words to say to him. She turned from Violet and hugged him tightly. Violet sighed at the turn of events and said, “Why don’t you two go upstairs and have your privacy. I need to run to the store.”

Molly was easily led upstairs to be alone with Sherlock in his room for the first time in over a month. She sat on his bed and stared up at him with bloodshot eyes and was finally able to talk properly, “I knew it was coming. He was getting so much worse. Why am I still shocked?”

Sherlock didn’t have an answer for her. His only real experience of loss was with Redbeard and he had shut himself off from feeling. He knew Molly was a well of emotions on a good day, there was no way she could fight the deluge she was now experiencing. She needed to let it out. 

Molly didn’t need an answer from Sherlock as she continued, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. I can’t imagine my life without him. I know I should have been preparing for this, but I think I’ve just been avoiding it.”

“No one can really prepare for these things,” Sherlock tried to tell her. He sat beside her and took her hand in his, “I just want you to know that I will do anything you need. I can’t replace your father, but I will give you everything I have.”

There was a pause before Molly said, “I want you to go to school.”

Sherlock felt as if she had read his mind but tried to cover over the guilt with confusion by replying, “What do you mean? Of course I’m going to school.”

“I want you here. Always. But I can’t let you sacrifice your future. I want you to promise that you’ll stick to our plan,” Molly said, sounding on the brink of tears of again. He studied her determined face and asked, “What if I could defer for at least a semester?”

“No,” she said as firmly as she could, “you have to go. I have to stay. It was always the plan. We knew this day would come and it makes it so much harder because of the timing of it all, but I’ll be ok. I promise.”

Sherlock leaned into her and rested his head against hers, “Your strength amazes me, Molly Hooper. I don’t know why it always does. You are resilient.”

Molly gave him a weak smile and said, “And you are brilliant and loyal.”

Sherlock returned her smile with his own before pressing his lips unto hers.

Molly accepted the kiss but did not allow him to pull back. Shee gripped his shirt pressed against him urgently. After some time, Sherlock could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks once more. She did not relent and soon he was pushing her on the bed just as much as she was pulling him onto her. 

“Molly,” Sherlock muttered against her lips, “we can’t.” She ignored him, pulling his tucked shirt from his pants before running her hands underneath and digging her fingers in the firm muscles of his shoulders, causing his shirt to ride up. He groaned as she wrapped a leg around his which forced his hips to grind against her own. So many red flags were running through his mind and despite his best attempts, his mother came to mind, reminding him not to take the decision away from Molly. But this was different. This was Molly making a rash decision because her father died this morning. He was not prepared for this. 

Sherlock was prepared to push away when Molly’s lips attached to a spot on his neck that rippled through his body. He then remembered the extracurricular reading he had been doing. His mother had lent him books that had opened his mind to the world of sex and he had stolen (and then returned) some books from the adult section at the local bookstore. He was still entirely without experience and unsure how to intervene now. Surely saying _Molly, I think having intercourse would be a terrible idea but would you accept some cunnilingus instead?_ would not go very well. 

As he considered the ways out of this, Molly seemed to sense his conflict and rested her head back on the pillow. She looked up at him, tears no longer falling, and said in a near whisper, “It’s ok, Sherlock, I want this.” He frowned, which caused her to frown as well. He didn’t move off her but said, “Are you sure this is the right time?”

“Is there ever going to be the right time?” she asked. He tried to comfort her by saying, “Our wedding night?” 

“What if we never make it that far? What if something happens?” she asked these questions of him. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, “Molly, nothing is going to happen to me.”

“I still want this.”

Sherlock met her eyes again and said, “If you want to stop at any point, just tell me. I will do anything you ask of me.”

Molly’s eyes seemed to suddenly glow with a fire as she said, “Touch me, Sherlock.” She pulled him back down so she could push her lips with his. Her tongue quickly tangled with his own as he allowed his weight to rest on Molly’s smaller body. She didn’t mind and allowed both her legs to embrace him. He let his hand slip into her shirt, touching her smooth and warm skin as inched upwards. His fingers tickled against the lace edging of her bra. 

Her chest was heaving as if they had been running but she showed no sign of protest as he cupped her small breasts through the fabric. He felt her nipples firmly through the material and craved having it in her mouth. He wondered for a moment if that was odd to want a woman’s nipple in his mouth. He had read it in his mother’s books and wondered if there was some Freudian explanation for it. He made a mental note to look into it at another time.

Molly pushed Sherlock up, and he was almost sure she wanted to stop but instead she began to unbutton her blouse. Without thinking about it, he joined her fumbling hands at undoing the buttons and stripped her of the garment. He leaned into kiss her and ran his hands along her back. He had heard the football players in his gym class talk about undoing the clasps of bras numerous times when they were changing in the locker room. They made it sound so easy, but he found himself struggling with the fabric band.

“I got it,” Molly whispered with a smile. She easily reached back and undid the clasp for him. The cups of her bra fell forward but did not yet expose the nipples he so longed to see, touch, and taste. He met her eyes again, silently asking for consent to continue. She nodded and pulled the bra away before tossing it to the floor to join her shirt. 

This was the first time Sherlock had seen her breasts exposed and he suddenly understood why people cared about breasts. It wasn’t that he wanted to see anyone else’s breasts but to see his Molly like this left him speechless. He felt embarrassed to think she was still only half-dressed and her body was leaving him already so aroused and in total awe.

Molly slowly began to cover her chest and said, “I know they’re small but…”

“They’re perfect,” Sherlock said before diving onto her. He kissed her passionately as he allowed his hands to roam freely over her skin. He once again found her nipples and gently rubbed his thumbs over them, causing them to harden more. Molly moaned into his kiss and then grasped his erratic curls as he lowered to his head to finally bring one to his mouth. The noise that Molly released was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Sherlock took his time letting his mouth explore Molly’s skin. He savored her breasts and enjoyed the sighs she released when he kissed the smooth expanse of her belly. 

Soon he found himself at the waistband of her shorts and once again paused. She did not make him wait for a response. She began to undo the button and zipper for him, raising her hips to encourage him to pull them down.

It was awkward as he had to lean far back to get the shorts of her legs and he found himself almost falling off the far end of the bed. He was able to compose himself and drop the shorts alongside her other garments, leaving her in nothing what her white cotton underwear. He could clearly see the dampness in them and groaned silently to himself. He had speculated that the pulp fiction he had read was almost entirely over the top, but he was coming to terms that it did contain some female friendly advice. He always imagined sex as being so automatic. Clearly, he needed to arouse his partner in ways that involved the whole body and not just her genitalia. 

Without thinking, Sherlock reached out and brushed his fingers over the fabric of Molly’s underwear. She watched him intently as he lowered his hand to the dampest part between her legs. She sighed contently but he could tell she wanted more. With a nod of encouragement, Sherlock removed her underwear with the same lack of dexterity as her shorts.

Sherlock was prepared for what he would see from the books he had read but found the view to be so much better. He blankly stared across her body as a blush creeped from her cheeks, down her neck, and to her breasts. He could see she was considering covering up but he said, “My Molly, you are so beautiful. Every inch of you.” Her blush deepened.

Before rejoining her, he pushed himself off the bed and quickly pulled his shirt over his head. His messy curls were dangerously worse, but he ignored them and began to pull his own pants off along with his underwear. It was so unceremonious as he stood before her, his erection quite prominent. 

“Are you sure about this?” Sherlock asked, wondering if he really did allow this to go to far. He could tell Molly was afraid of looking down at his penis. She nodded and allowed him to rejoin her on the bed.

Instead of resting on her body once more, Sherlock carefully fitted himself between the wall and Molly. He was honestly afraid to continue, not that he would have told her that. Molly rolled on her side to look at him, all knowing when it came to him and said, “Are _you_ sure about this?”

“No,” he replied honestly, “but I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Molly leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest and kissed him gently. She placed a soft hand on his side and slowly ran it down along his hip. She then allowed it to slip down until she wrapped her small hand around his shaft.

Aside from doctors, no one had ever touched him there before and the shock of it caused him to gasp loudly. Molly couldn’t help but smile though she asked, “Is this ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned, leaning in to bury his face in her neck. She kissed his curls and said, “Perhaps you can touch me?”

Sherlock nodded but said nothing. He allowed his hand to follow a similar path on her body, touching the soft hair between her legs gently. He could feel the wetness before carefully parting the lips of skin. He was blind and navigating based on medical diagrams and descriptions. He was so soft but also fighting the distraction of Molly’s slow strokes on him. He wasn’t sure if he was doing anything right at all, but Molly was moaning and pulling tighter on his curls. Her hand wasn’t moving anymore, as if it forgot what it was doing. He was a little relieved because he was worried he would finish too soon.

“Sherlock,” Molly began panting softly, over and over again. He continued what he was doing but wished he could have a better view. He promised himself that next time he would go between her legs and taste her. He wanted to know if it was really all it was made out to be in his mother’s books.

Now that Molly was no longer touching him, he was able to lift his head and watch her face. Her eyes closed as she bit her lip. She was breathing heavier and heavier and then all of the sudden she made a small gasp. Her breath stopped for a few moments and then she sighed in relief.

All too quickly she smiled and giggled, “Sherlock, stop… it’s too much.”

Sherlock assumed she had had an orgasm, but he was too afraid to ask. Of course, she knew him and said, “I think that was an orgasm.”

“Have you…” he paused, “ever had one?”

She shook her head, “I’ve tried to touch myself, but it never felt that good.”

Sherlock’s chest swelled with pride and quickly leaned back into her to kiss her boldly. She giggled into the kiss and said, “It’s all so sensitive now.”

“I get like that when I touch myself. When I… orgasm,” he said. He blushed as he said the word. He continued, “I’ve done some reading on it and men typically enter a refractory period after ejaculation. There’s a debate whether woman have the same thing. Typically, women recover within a few moments and…”

“Sherlock,” Molly laughed, “not the time.” Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh as well and apologized. She kissed him and said, “I think I’m ready… if you are.”

“Ok,” Sherlock simply said. He looked at her for a few moments and then down her body. He fought himself from asking her if she was sure. He also wanted to discuss the possible outcomes that he had read. With it being their first time, he wasn’t sure how long this would go on for. He was also concerned about any possible pain she might experience. He wanted to know if she possibly already broke her hymen on her bike seat or perhaps she might have ridden a horse when he was younger. He was also concerned about her pleasure. Would she be disappointed if he had an orgasm during intercourse and she didn’t?

“Shhh,” Molly said, silencing the thoughts racing through his mind despite not saying a word out loud, “it’s going to be ok.” He nodded before letting her kiss him. She trusted him and she displayed it with her body language. He could see it as she rested on her back and allowed him to roll over her body. 

It took some fumbling, which Sherlock apologized for before he positioned himself in what he was sure was the right place. He read about anal sex but found no interest in it and didn’t think now was the time to see how Molly felt about it. 

Their eyes met as Sherlock pressed his body to her’s. They both held their breath until Molly’s face expressed the pain she felt. It was so fast and quick but then her features relaxed and she was smiling at him as he fully buried himself within her.

“Are you ok?” He asked, afraid to move for multiple reasons. She nodded despite a tear running from her eye. He reached out to brush it away before leaning down to kiss her. She reached around him to hold him tightly against her. Carefully and slowly, he began to move his hips. He watched her face for any reactions that would be cause to stop but she showed none. 

The couple continued though Sherlock noticed she wasn’t as aroused as when he had used his hand. He wondered if he should do both, but they were pressed so tightly together he wasn’t sure if he could fit his hand between them.

Awkwardly, Molly raised each leg to rest her feet along his calves and soon she was pulling on him, urging him to be firmer. He silently obliged until he couldn’t contain himself any further. He released his seed deep within her, panting heavily across her chest as she held him tighter. Her hand returned to his curls and stroked his head gently.

It took several minutes before Sherlock could lift his head. It was better than anything he had ever experienced with his own hand, not that he had masturbated much. It all became clear why sex mattered so much. He didn’t care so much about having a lot of sex, he just wanted to make sure all the sex he had for the rest of his life was with Molly. 

“Did I hurt you?” Sherlock eventually asked, moving off her body to rest beside her once more. She replied quietly, “Only for a moment and then it felt good.”

“Did you orgasm again?” He asked, saying the word but more confidently now. He was a man now, he shouldn’t be embarrassed. These were scientific words. He wasn’t using vulgar terminology.

Molly shook her head, “No, but it felt close.”

“Maybe the next time I can do better,” Sherlock said, a bit disappointed with himself. She giggled and leaned into him, “We have our entire lives to get better at this.”

“You promise you won’t regret this?” Sherlock asked, causing a frown to grow on her face. She then asked, “Do you think I should?”

“I don’t regret anything I do with you as long as you’re happy. I would hate for you to regret this. I’ll remember it for as long as I live as once of the greatest moments of my life,” he said told her, with a determined look in his eye. She smiled widely and said, “I don’t regret this.”

“Good,” Sherlock said, pressing his lips to hers.

The pair remained in bed for nearly an hour before Molly said she needed to use the bathroom. Sherlock added, “We should probably get dressed before my mom gets home. I don’t think this was what she had in mind when she meant to give us privacy.”

Molly laughed, “No, I don’t think so.”

Once she stood, she realized the mess that they had made, not just between her legs, but on the bed. Sherlock grabbed Molly’s clothes, opened his door to make sure the coast was clear, and then quickly escorted her to the bathroom. He returned to his room and grabbed a handkerchief, quickly and crudely wiping at himself before putting his clothes back on. He wanted to put on fresh clothes, but he knew that would raise suspicion with his mother.

Sherlock looked over the bed and saw that the stains were mostly on the comforter. He pulled the pillows and comforter off before flipping it over. There was still a sign of a stain but not nearly as noticeable. It would have to do until his last day. He never washed his own sheets and doing so now would be a major red flag. 

Several minutes passed and Molly had still not returned to his room. He went into the hallway and approached the door. He could easily hear Molly’s cries and felt self-hatred fester inside himself. He knew he shouldn’t have let this happen. She would think he took advantage of her at her most vulnerable time. Still, he couldn’t leave her in there to suffer alone. He gently knocked on the door and said, “Molly, are you ok?”

He could hear her sniffle and try to hold back her sobs, “I’m fine.”

“Is it me or is it…” he trailed off. He didn’t want to say out loud that her father was dead. 

“It’s not you,” she replied. A few moments passed as Sherlock wondered what to do, then the door opened, and Molly stood before him, fully dressed and clutching tissue paper to her face. 

“Oh, Molly,” he sighed and hugged her. They had been distracted in his room but now there was nothing to get her mind off the death of her father.

Molly attempted to apologize, but he wouldn’t hear of it. She had nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be apologizing, it was him. In two short days he would be abandoning her during a time he promised her father that he would protect her. He considered his options to himself and when one of them seemed the most miserable but also the most valid, he heard the front door open and heard said option call out, “Is anyone home?”

Sherlock looked to Molly as they pulled apart by the sudden intrusion. He ushered her quickly to his room and closed the door. He then went to the stairs and looked down, meeting his brother’s stare.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Mycroft said with a half-hearted smile as he began to ascend the stairs. Sherlock held his hands up and descended the stairs, using his body to block Mycroft. “You have outdated information, come to the kitchen so I can speak with you,” Sherlock said quietly, but firmly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he studied his brother’s sudden willingness to speak with him. He turned from the stairs and went to the kitchen, first stopping at the cookie jar before sitting at the table. He crossed one long leg over the other and watched with interest as Sherlock said next to him.

“You have terrible yet amazing timing,” Sherlock started as he folded his hands together and pressed them to his lips. Mycroft replied, “Mother invited me. She said we were celebrating your engagement to Ms. Hooper.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, that was the plan for today.”

“Was?” 

“Molly’s father died this morning,” Sherlock said, meeting his eyes.

“Well,” Mycroft said, “that would put a damper in your plans.”  
.   
“Molly is incredibly vulnerable right now. I ask that you show a modicum of respect for her and her family. She is to be your sister-in-law someday,” Sherlock growled at Mycroft’s disinterested expression. His brother simply rolled his eyes and said, “When is this elusive someday?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sherlock said. 

“Is that all then?” Mycroft asked, nibbling at the shortbread cookie he had taken. Sherlock glared at him for several moments, debating if this really was the best thing to do. He could ask his parents, but they knew nothing about how to help Molly. 

“No,” Sherlock said, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Oooooooh, a favor. What could the all-knowingly and self-sufficient Sherlock need from his evil big brother?” Mycroft asked rather cruelly. He was met with a glare of pure hatred but allowed his brother to proceed with his request.

“Before Molly’s father passed, he told me some things about their family that could possibly hurt her. He made me promise to take care of her, but she’s made me promise to leave for Harvard in two days,” Sherlock explained briefly. He glanced out the kitchen to the stairs, ensuring Molly could not be eavesdropping. Mycroft saw his brother’s stare and asked, “Is she here?”

Sherlock nodded, “She was distraught so I brought her here. Mom knows.”

Mycroft looked skeptical but then lowered his voice, assuming Sherlock didn’t want Molly to hear their discussion. “What is this secret that you have on the Hoopers?”

Sherlock explained what James Hooper had explained to him. Sherlock then bared his emotions for the first time to his brother and expressed how much he wanted to protect as he had promised. Normally, Mycroft would be very insulting regarding the topic of emotions, but he respected the Hoopers and the fact that Molly was not allowing Sherlock to use this event to avoid college.

“I don’t know much about these type of legal matters, but I’ll speak with my assistant at work about getting the best representation for her family. As for her parentage, I believe you’ll have to be the messenger. I refuse to get my hands that messy in personal affairs,” Mycroft said, looking disgusted at the thought. 

“Fair enough,” Sherlock said.

“In exchange for my help,” Mycroft said, “you have to stay at Harvard and graduate. I don’t want you blowing off this opportunity.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I’m going to Harvard for Molly, not for you.”

The brothers bickered for a few moments until they heard the soft footsteps coming from the stairwell. They both paused and watched as Molly sheepishly entered the kitchen. 

Mycroft watched the two look at each other as Molly, with her red face, announced, “I should go home and check on my mom.”

Mycroft quickly stood to his feet, abandoning the last bite of his cookie on the table, and said, “Ms. Hooper, allow me to offer my sympathies for your loss. Your father was a respectable man.”

Sherlock wanted to roll his eyes but then froze as Mycroft dug his hand into his pocket and withdrew a business card from within his jacket. He stepped to Molly and handed the card to her, “I understand with Sherlock leaving for school that it may seem you have no one to lean on. Take this and call me if you need a… friend.” 

Molly stared at the pristine cardstock before meeting Mycroft’s eyes with her own. His words seemed forced, but she could see sincerity in his expression. She simply nodded and took the card, looked at his name and phone number printed in black ink. She quietly thanked him before announcing she would start walking home.

“Allow me to drive you,” Mycroft offered as Sherlock said, “Let me walk you home.”

“Thank you… both,” Molly said, forcing a smile when she wanted to cry, “I think I need the time alone.” She then looked to Sherlock and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“I’ll wait by the phone all day if I have to,” he replied. Molly nodded and said, “I’ll show myself out.” Sherlock watched helplessly as she departed. 

Once the front door had closed, Mycroft nearly pounced on him, “You deflowered her.”

Sherlock was disgusted at the term and scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You can smell it through the house,” Mycroft accused. Sherlock said nothing but stared daggers at his older sibling. He eventually rolled his eyes and said, “What does it matter?”

“Only that I’m sure our mother didn’t allow her over for you to take advantage of her the day her father died,” Mycroft said, voicing Sherlock’s concerns over their actions. He shook his head, “It was Molly’s idea, not mine.”

“That poor girl is going to pine over you for the next year, Sherlock,” Mycroft firmly told him, “This was the cruelest thing you could have done.”

Sherlock wanted to refuse the words from entering his mind, but it was impossible. His insecurities were affirmed by Mycroft, but he said more for himself than for his brother, “I love her and will prove my love to her as much as I can while I’m gone. By this time next year, she will be my wife and you’ll be jealous because you’ll be alone for the rest of your pathetic life.”

“You’re setting yourself up for a great disappointment, and her for that matter. You know how you are, Sherlock. You’re reckless, emotional, and too curious for your own good,” he hissed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to cheat on her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Mycroft shook his head, “You don’t know what the world is like outside of Sherrinford. You don’t know what kind of trouble you can get yourself into. I just hope that you don’t bring Molly down with you.”

“Get out,” Sherlock growled, finally having enough of his brother and his smugness. Mycroft smiled and said, “No, I’ve been invited for a party and I’m having a marvelous time.”

Sherlock could take it no more. He shoved firmly on Mycroft’s chest, pushing him into the table and said, “If you won’t go, I’ll go!”

Mycroft said nothing as Sherlock stormed out of the house, but not before he grabbed what Mycroft referred to as his explorer’s bag. Sherlock bag contained a variety of things he used for solving crimes, things he found useful that even the police didn’t think to use. He also kept things in there like his house keys, a small lock of hair that Molly had given him, a compass from his childhood adventures with Redbeard, and the heroin he had obtained what felt like a lifetime ago.

Sherlock ran through the streets of Sherrinford and eventually found himself at the familiar run-down house he had spent so much time learning about how the troubled youth of the town lived. He was grateful to find Wiggin’s familiar but dirty face.

“Shezza!” Wiggins cried out, “It’s been ages!”

Why Wiggins wanted to call him Shezza, he would never understand but he allowed it. He dug through his bag and pulled the small envelope of the illegal drug out and then dropped his bag on the ground. He boldly looked at Wiggins, holding the drug out and said, “I’m ready to try it.”


	9. Disappointment

Molly called Sherlock’s house three times over the course of the day. Each time, Violet had answered and apologized sincerely that he hadn’t been home all day. They both suspected that he was absorbed in a case that he wanted to solve before he left for school the next day.

Things were too quiet at home and she wished she could be where Sherlock was. She needed the distraction more than anything. Her mother had not left her room, forcing Molly to speak with the funeral director, Thomas Crowe, in the kitchen just after lunch on her own. The balding man had arrived in a casual outfit of navy slacks and a white polo shirt stained at the pits from the still ruthless summer. He had wiped his profusely sweating head with his handkerchief the entire time that Molly sat with him. He had not touched the small spread she had politely put out as a courtesy to her guest. The man had perfectly practiced empathy for her situation and refused her apology when she said her mother was too overcome with grief to join them.

Molly had no idea what their financial situation looked like. She didn’t know how to plan a funeral, but Mr. Crowe was kind and patient with her. He was a respected but feared man around town. No one had any ill will towards him, but no one invited him to parties because who wanted to chat with a man who worked with the dead?

All things considered, Mr. Crowe made the process as painless as possible. He discussed the different options and price points available and said nothing when Molly tried to be as frugal as possible. This was her father and she wanted the absolute best for him, but she also knew she had to be realistic. Mr. Crowe was used to this type of conflict. What he wasn’t used to was when Molly timidly asked, “Can I watch you… prepare him?”

“Ms. Hooper,” Mr. Crowe said in shock, “I-I-I… I don’t think that’s something appropriate for a young lady such as yourself.”

Molly twisted the facts a little and said, “I’m attending Harvard for medical school next year. I wanted to get a little experience. You know they have you dissect a body for an entire semester?”

Mr. Crowe paled at her insistence but said, “If I allow this, you can only see your father. I can’t allow you to see anyone else.”

“I understand,” Molly said solemnly. She gave him a weak smile and said, “I do really appreciate you coming over. I apologize again about my mother’s absence.”

The older man seemed relieved that their meeting was now ending. He thanked Molly for the food he had not eaten and said in a script-like way, “It’s our honor to provide anything we can to help with the loss of your loved one.”

Molly showed Mr. Crowe out, but not before securing a time that she could arrive to the funeral home to watch the embalming of her father’s corpse. She didn’t really know what to expect but she wanted to be with him as much as she could until he was in the ground. 

Once she was alone, she trudged her way upstairs and stopped before her mother’s room. She could hear her feeble whimpers through the door. She had only heard her mother leave her room during the night. She did not confront her, she just allowed her to wallow in her own grief until she was ready. Still, she knocked gently on the door and said, “Mom, I’ve discussed all the funeral arrangements with Mr. Crowe. I’m going to the funeral home on Friday to finalize everything.” There was nothing left to finalize. Molly didn’t want to tell her mother why she was going there. 

There was a pause, but her mother said nothing. Molly sighed and finished, “If there is anything you want to go over, just let me know.”

Molly could hear sobs begin to build behind the wooden door and tears began to prick at her own eyes. She quickly bolted to her own room, locking the door before she collapsed on her bed. She buried her face in her pillow and let the cotton and feathers absorb her tears and cries.

Night had fallen before Molly was able to pull herself out of bed. She debated calling Sherlock, who had never called her back, but it was after 9pm and she didn’t want to bother his family. Instead, she fixed herself a glass of lemonade and went to sit in her father’s seat on the porch.

As she sat in his chair, she pretended the arms of the chair were his embrace and he was comforting her after a difficult day. He’d call her ‘pumpkin’ and tell her how proud he was of her. He’d make a few corny jokes to make her laugh at how bad they were and then they’d walk the three blocks away to the local ice cream shop. She always got vanilla, he always got pistachio, and when they walked home together, he’d try to hit his cone against hers to steal some of her sprinkles. It felt like years since they had done that. She wished they could have done it one more time, but he had been in no shape to make the short walk. It was brutal enough watching him drag his failing body to work. She hated how he couldn’t be allowed a way to die more peacefully.

Mosquitoes were biting at Molly’s legs, so she tucked them underneath herself and stared out into the darkness. The occasional headlights on the street would light up her driveway. Once they passed, her eyes readjusted to the dark and she could make out fireflies in the yard. She remembered crushing one between her fingers when she was young and showing the glowing mess on her fingertips to her father. He had used his handkerchief to wipe it off and told her, “Molly, those glowing things are living creatures. They don’t look like much but they’re beautiful, right?” Molly had looked out into the yard to see them glowing and going dark once more as if a switch was flipped. She had nodded in awe. Her father then had told her, “Respect even the littlest things, Molly.”

Tears were streaming down Molly’s face as memory after memory hit her like wave after wave on the beach her family used to go to every summer. Molly loved sitting in the sand where the waves would hit her chest and knock her back. She’d sit back up and let it happen again. Sometimes her father would join her, but he’d dramatically roll backwards and pretend the waves that hit him were much stronger than they really were. For some reason Molly liked letting the sea remind her how powerless she was against it. She had headed warnings of riptides and strong surfs, rarely going far enough out that her feet would not touch the sand. She remembered when her father would swim with her on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck until they could float freely in the salty water without the waves crashing on them. They would talk about fish, pipedreams of learning how to surf, and then sharks which usually made Molly cry and want to return to dry land. 

Molly wasn’t sure how long she sat outside though her mourning was interrupted by headlights pulling into her driveway. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as to who would be arriving, but her question was quickly answered when the car reached the weak light glowing on the porch. It was a police car and a head of familiar grey hair could be seen in the window.

“Greg?” Molly asked in confusion as she got up, wiping her face roughly with the back of her hand. Greg was wearing regular clothes and looked concerned. She wondered if he was checking on her after yesterday’s tragedy. He stood at the bottom of the porch steps and wasted no time, “Sherlock told me not to come here but I didn’t know what to do. He’s been arrested.” 

“What.” Molly said in shock more than confusion. She looked at the tired detective and could find no words. She was trying to piece together what could have possibly happened since yesterday. Was he trespassing on a crime scene? That was the only logical thing she could think of. 

“Molly,” Greg said firmly, snapping her away from the blackhole of her thoughts, “he’s going to do something really stupid. More stupid than what he’s already done.”

Molly met his eyes and asked, “What did he do?”

“Come with me and I’ll tell you on the way.”

Molly ran inside to grab her house key, and as a quick thought made a detour to the phone in the kitchen. She dialed the number she had unintentionally memorized from the small piece of cardstock she had only been given a day ago and left a message with a very irritated woman. She locked the front door without bothering to tell her mother where she was going. 

She sat in the front seat with Greg as they made their way to the city courthouse and jail. He explained, “One of our teams did a drug bust at the abandoned houses on the far edge of town and they found Sherlock. He had heroin on him which wouldn’t be as big of a problem for a first offence but then he hit an officer.”

Her stomach did somersaults and then firmly knotted at the thought of the trouble Sherlock was in. The one thing that confused her was the drugs. He had never shown any inclination toward drugs. Had he been hiding his habit from her this whole time? Molly had slept with him, given herself to him. There were no track marks or signs of abuse on his body. Had she missed something?

“Why would he do that?” Molly asked, in absolute shock that Sherlock would hit a police officer. What had happened since she left him to cause him to act out so uncharacteristically?

Greg shook his head, “It could have been the drugs. We don’t know what other drugs he could have taken.”

“Sherlock doesn’t do drugs,” Molly said boldly. She could see Greg clench and unclench his jaw in the dark, trying to find words to say. Finally he told her, “Look, you need to take it up with him and convince him not to be an idiot.”

“What’s he trying to do?” Molly asked. Greg glanced at her, trying to keep an eye on the road. He didn’t want to tell her, but he knew she needed to know, “He’s going to ask the judge to drop the charges if he agrees to enlist in the army.”

Molly went numb.

The rest of the ride was in silence. When they arrived, Greg asked where Sherlock was. The judge had refused to see any late-night cases, so Sherlock was being left in the jail overnight. He was able to lead Molly to his cell despite visiting hours being well over.

When Molly approached his cell, she could see there were several other men with him. They all looked young and disheveled with marks down their arms and a glaze in their eye. Sherlock lifted his head while sitting hunched over on the floor when he saw feet at the base of the bars. He had a similar look in his eyes to the other men.

“Sherlock,” Molly gasped. As if time was moving slower for him than anyone else, he unenthusiastically picked himself off the floor and came over to the bars that separated them. Greg said nothing but took a step back to give them a little privacy. He respected Sherlock but he also was concerned for Molly’s safety considering Sherlock’s recent unexpected behavior.

“I told him not to bring you,” Sherlock muttered to Molly, gripping at the bars between them and resting his face in one of the gaps. Molly wanted to reach out and touch him but was scared. She tried to meet his eye, but they looked so unfocused.

“What is going on, Sherlock? Greg said you were doing drugs. That’s not like you,” Molly whispered, leaning in close enough that Sherlock could touch her if he wanted to. He kept his hands on the bars and said, “There’s too much happening. Too much. I can’t keep all the plates spinning. I’m bound to drop a few.”

Molly felt tears gathering in her eyes but tried to blink them away, “Sherlock, life is happening.”

“And death,” he cut her off. The tears fell as she glared at him. She knew he wasn’t in his right mind, “Yes, and death. That’s no excuse to stick needles in your body and ruin that beautiful brain of yours.”

Sherlock sighed, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said with a firm tone though her voice quivered slightly, “I understand you better than anyone and I have just lost my father and now I’m losing you. If there’s anyone who knows about too much happening, it’s me.”

Sherlock leaned his head back, his eyes nearly rolling until only the white were showing. He then groaned, “That wasn’t even your father, Molly.”

A confused look fell over Molly. She knew the words he spoke were just ramblings caused by the drugs pumping through his veins, but they still hurt her. She glared at him, properly angry with him for the first time in their relationship and said, “How dare you say a word about my father.”

Greg stepped forward and said, “Maybe you should go lie down, buddy.” He put a protective hand on Molly’s shoulder and tried to guide her back away from the cell. She allowed him to bring her back a few steps as Sherlock said, “He was your uncle, Molly. Your real father died in Korea.”

There was a long and awkward pause that broke when Sherlock agreed he should go lie down. Molly stood stunned with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face was pale, causing the redness of her eyes to glow. Greg saw her distress and quickly lead her away before Sherlock could find a way to make things worse.

Greg led Molly through the dimmed and silent building, up three floors and past an open floor of desks where some officers were working to meet deadlines and then finally to his office. He immediately apologized about the state of it. There were paper coffee cups and take out containers on every surface. Files were piled all over the place with no sort of organization in place. He had her sit at the chair before his desk and asked if she wanted tea or coffee. She wanted nothing but let him busy himself by disappearing from the office to fetch her a tea.

Molly tried to make sense of what had just happened. She knew the drugs were causing Sherlock to act differently but would they allow him to construct such a lie as to say her father was not really that? So many things were racing through her mind. Sherlock was supposed to be her rock, her source of strength and protection. He had promised he would make her happy. He was failing that promise. He was hurting her so much at a time that she was so vulnerable. Was he even going to leave for school the next day? All she could keep saying to herself was, “What is happening?”

After quite a bit of privacy, Greg gently knocked on the door to his own office before apologizing when he opened it. He handed Molly the tea, which she placed on the desk, and said, “Sherlock’s brother is here. Don’t know how he knew but he’s raining hell on him.”

“I called him,” Molly confessed. She hoped Mycroft would not tell Sherlock that or he might never forgive her. Greg sighed and said, “I know it’s hard. I’ve seen enough families go through this. Addiction is a nasty beast.”

“Sherlock isn’t an addict,” Molly snapped at Greg. Horror immediately overtook her face and she quickly spilled out apologies, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take that tone. I’m under a lot of stress right now.”

Greg remained calm through it all and approached her slowly, “Molly, it’s ok. Your father just died. Your boyfriend was just arrested for possession. It’s ok to be as upset as you need to be.” His hand rested gently on her back and rubbed a slow and comforting circle between her shoulder blades. She looked up and met his eyes. In an almost whisper she confided in him, “I want to scream so loud, but I don’t think it’d be enough. I don’t think anyone would hear me.”

The tired detective pulled his hand back and walked away from her. He went to his door and opened it before poking his head out. He called out, “Oi, Anderson, Donavan?”

A woman’s voice traveled down the hall, “Yeah, boss?”

“Ignore any sounds you hear coming from my office in the next few minutes, ok?”

There was a pause, “Sure?” The voice replied in confusion. Greg closed his door again and then looked back to Molly, “Scream.”

“What?” Molly said in confusion. Greg waved a hand at her and said, “You want to scream, so scream. As loud as you need to.”

Molly hesitated, her face burning red with embarrassment. She stuttered an excuse, but Greg would not hear it. He opened his mouth and yelled loudly with no regards to how crazy it was. She found herself staring wide-eyed as he waved at her again and said, “Your turn.” She took a big breath quickly, trying not to think and yelled.

“Louder!” Greg shouted over her and she found her volume increasing. He yelled with her and it made her yell even louder. She felt the tension within her body and frustrations and her mind ease, as if it traveled from her mouth. When they finally stopped, they both looked at each other and began to laugh uncontrollably. 

“Feel better?” Greg managed to ask her. She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes that fell from the fits of laughter and not from sadness. 

There was a firm knock on the door as they tried to control their laughter. Greg straightened himself and opened the door to his office, “Look, I told you guys to ignore- Oh, Mycroft.”

Molly froze in her seat as she heard Mycroft’s serious voice, “May I have a word with Molly alone?”

Greg paused, opened the door further so Molly could see the older Holmes brother and said, “Is it ok if Mycroft comes in?” She could only nod. Greg nodded back in response and allowed Mycroft to enter. He said he’d be in the hallway if they needed anything before closing the door to give them privacy.

Mycroft was dressed impeccably as if he were ready for a formal lunch meeting. Somehow, he showed no sign of exhaustion despite the late hour and having driven from the city. He did not look pleased, but she could tell by the way he looked at her that his frustrations did not lie with her. She still found herself apologizing, “I’m sorry for calling so late. I didn’t even think your secretary would pass the message. I didn’t know who to call.”

The taller man held his hands up to stop her, “You did the right thing. I’m glad you called me before it was too late.” He gave her an attempt at a comforting smile that seemed so out of character for him. He stepped further into the office and placed his hands in his pockets, trying to give the impression that this was a casual meeting. “I’ve spoken with Sherlock and he’s ensured me that this was the first dalliance with heroin and will also be the last. I’ve had to pull a few strings at work that may reflect poorly on me as I’m still quite junior, but Sherlock’s charges have been dropped and I’ll personally be delivering him to Harvard tomorrow.” 

“Thank you for helping him,” Molly gushed as soon as Mycroft stopped speaking. She stood up and quickly tackled him with a hug. His arms raised in surprise and hovered over her as she clutched at the back of his suit jacket with her cheek pressed against his chest. He hesitantly lowered his arms and let his hands rest on her shoulders, his fingers getting caught in her long, soft locks of hair.

After several moments, Mycroft cleared his throat and gently used the hands on her shoulder to push her back. He gave her another forced smile and said, “They are in the process of releasing Sherlock now. Allow me to drive you home once they are finished.” Molly accepted and thanked him. He replied, “I should be thanking you. If something like this happens again, please let me know.”

Molly considered his words. Would something like this happen again? Could she still trust Sherlock? She wasn’t even sure they would have a moment to discuss what had happened before he left.

Before they left the office, Molly asked Mycroft, “Would it be possible to have a moment alone with Sherlock tonight?” She went on before Mycroft could respond, “I know it’s a lot to ask but he said some things tonight that I need clarification on, and I need to know before he leaves for Harvard.”

“What did he say?” Mycroft asked, looking at her hesitantly. She knew she could trust Mycroft despite what Sherlock had said. She could tell by the way he always spoke to her since Sherlock’s graduation that he respected her. She told him solemnly, “He said something about my father not being my father. He said my real father died in Korea.”

Molly expected Mycroft to say that Sherlock was high and didn’t know what he was saying. Instead, he went to sit on the other side of the desk, and motioned for Molly to sit again. He looked almost guilty. He refused to meet her eye as he said, “Sherlock’s not lying.”

“What?”

“Sherlock confided in me that your father… James Hooper had a twin brother named Brandon Hooper. He was married to your mother and is the biological father of you and your brother.”

Too many emotions passed Molly’s face including shock, confusion, anger, and sadness. She shook her head and said, “Brandon was my uncle. He died in Korea when I was a baby.”

“That’s what they told you. James did not want to see his brother’s family at a disadvantage, so he took your father’s place. It would seem they were identical twins, so the change was not noticeable to you or Daniel at such young ages.”

Mycroft spoke softly, leaning toward her over the desk as he calmly explained her own family history to her. Her heart was racing as she took in his words. She didn’t want to believe that her whole life was a lie, but she knew that Mycroft was not lying to her. She opened her mouth several times, wanting to say something… anything, she just couldn’t find the words.

He continued, “I have done some fact checking of my own at Sherlock’s request. Your father, James, wanted to ensure you would be protected in the wake of his death.”

“Protected?” Molly managed to croak out, “Protected from what?”

Mycroft sighed, “It appears James never adopted you and his will leaves everything to his surviving children. After some searching, it appears he fathered a son with another woman shortly before his marriage to your mother.”

Molly’s face paled further, something that seemed almost impossible. It was as if no blood was pumping though her body. Her jaw dropped in shock and her head shook from side to side, “You need to stop.” Her words were weak as she tried her best to hold back tears. How could her father lie to her for so many years? Because he wasn’t her father. This made her mother a liar as well. She had been lied to her entire life. Her dear brother died never knowing the truth either. 

“I regret having to be the one to tell you these things, Molly,” Mycroft said morbidly, “but there’s more I need to discuss with you.”

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” she confessed.

Mycroft nodded and said, “It’s late and Sherlock should be released shortly. I can come to your house the day after tomorrow and go over anything else. I have also hired a lawyer on your behalf to represent you and your mother should things take an unexpected turn.”

Molly took in his offer and quickly asked, “Why are you helping me?”

Mycroft stood and ran his hands over his suit jacket, brushing away any creases or wrinkles. He straightened up and said with a firm tone, “I respect you, Molly. I was convinced you’d be a negative influence for my brother. I worry about him constantly but having you in his life makes me feel like he has some voice of reason keeping him from self-destructing.”

“I’ve clearly failed considering we’re having this conversation with your brother in a jail cell downstairs,” she argued miserably. Mycroft nodded, “I understand but Sherlock has always been a difficult child. I hope you can continue to exert your influence on him and in return I will be here to support you during these trying times.”

Molly gave Mycroft a thoughtful look but said nothing more. She stood and allowed him to open the door for her. Greg was leaning against the wall across from them and asked, “You ok?” She nodded and gave him a weak smile. Mycroft stepped into the hallway after her and said, “I’ll be taking Miss Hooper and my brother home. Thank you for your assistance, Detective.”

“Anything for a friend,” Greg said and gave Molly a warm smile. He reached out and patted her back and said, “You call me if you need anything, you hear me?” She nodded once more and said quietly, “Goodnight, Greg.”

Mycroft led a crashing Molly back through the building where they eventually joined Sherlock, who was being handed his belt, wallet, and a small velvet box by an officer behind a glass barrier. She pretended she didn’t see the ring box and held her breath as Sherlock grumbled about the waste of his night.

Sherlock turned around at the sound of Mycroft clearing his throat. He groaned, “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m taking you home before our parents realize how moronic you’ve been and then I’m taking you to school in the morning,” Mycroft stated firmly. Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I’m taking the Greyhound.”

“No,” Mycroft said, “you’re not. Now let’s go before you get into any more trouble.”

Sherlock finally acknowledged Molly as they followed Mycroft out of the building, “You didn’t need to get yourself caught up in all of this.” She looked at him with dismay, not knowing what to say to him. She was suddenly caught between emotions. She wanted to be angry and knock some sense into him. She also wanted to cry and make him understand how much he was breaking her heart. She wanted him to know she was scared to death of what the consequences could be. What if he overdosed? What if he got some type of infection? It was too soon to start thinking of a life with Sherlock. She was trying to keep her mind from wandering to dark places.

Molly was pushed into the front seat to sit beside Mycroft so that Sherlock could lay across the backseat. Mycroft met Molly’s eyes for a moment, sending a sympathetic gaze toward her. She ignored it, feeling embarrassed that Sherlock was making a fool of himself and of her for caring about him. She found herself looking out the window the entire drive home.

When they had arrived at Molly’s house, she had expected Sherlock to walk her to her door. Mycroft cleared his throat, as he normally did when Sherlock was being oblivious to proper social etiquette. “Why don’t you walk Miss Hooper inside? We’ll be leaving early tomorrow, and you won’t have a chance to say goodbye before you go,” Mycroft suggested bluntly, causing Molly’s face to burn further with embarrassment.

“I’m tired and I can call her from school,” Sherlock replied, ignoring Molly’s presence in the car. She could take it no more, throwing her weight into the heavy door to get out. She walked in front of the headlights of the Cadillac and collided with a firm body. She looked up and apologized, not realizing that Mycroft had also gotten out of the car. 

“Allow me to walk you to your door,” he said calmly. Half his face was in shadow and half was brightly lit from the vehicle’s headlights. He looked washed out and tired. She tried to refuse him but found her defenses breaking down. Her eyes watered and she wanted nothing more to run to her room and let the flood of tears that were threatening to consume her fall. 

Mycroft put an around across her shoulders and quietly guided her up the gravel driveway. The only noise was the idling engine, their steps crunching in the rocks, and the crickets singing the final verses of their song before the sun rose. The sudden and overwhelming exhaustion that hit her made her grateful for Mycroft’s guidance up the porch steps. Her hands shook as she tried to unlock her front door, causing Mycroft to take the key from her and open the door for her. 

Before Mycroft let her enter the house, he said, “I’m sorry Sherlock is an utter ass. I’m mortified that he’s acting the way that he is.”

“It’s not your fault,” Molly said, placing a hand on the forearm that connected to the door handle. She gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “Thank you for everything.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he asked, looking at his watch and noting it was well into the early hours of the following day. Molly wondered if she was mistaken but she swore he sounded almost hopeful. She gave him a tired smile and said, “Tomorrow. Drive safe.”

Mycroft bowed his head slightly to her, handing her the key from the door before ushering her into her dark house. She watched him disappear from view as she pushed the door closed, putting an end to a horrible night.


End file.
